.    .    ■ 


LIBRARY 

UNIVtK>ITY  Vr 


^ 


THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR 


A   NO^EL 


v!i> 


BY 


ANTHONY   HOPE 

AUTHOR    OF   THE    PRISONER    OF    ZENDA,    ETC 


bLiwdujiA-> 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1.S94 


Copyright,  1894, 
By  D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I. — An  Insolent  Memory    . 
II. — The  Coining  of  a  Nickname 
III. — Mrs.  Dennison's  Orders 
IV. — Two  Young  Gentlemen 
V. — A  Telegram  to  Frankfort 
VI. — Whose  shall  it  be  f 
VII. — An  Attempt  to  stop  the  W 
VIII. — Converts  and  Heretics 
IX. — An  Oppressive  Atmosphere 
X. — A  Lady's  Bit  of  Work 
XI. — Against  his  Coming 
XII. — It  can  wait    . 
XIII. — A  Spasm  of  Penitence  . 
XIV. — The  Thing  or  the  Man 
XV. — The  Work  of  a  Week 
XVI. — The  Last  Barriers 
XVII. — A  Sound  in  the  Night 
XVIII. — On  the  Matter  of  a  Railw 
XIX. — Past  praying  for  . 
XX. — The  Baron's  Contribution 
XXI. — A  Joint  in  his  Armour 
XXII. — A  Toast  in  Champagne 
XXIII. — The  Cutting  of  the  Knot 
XXIV. — The  Return  of  a  Friend 
XXV.— The  Moving  Car    . 

(iii) 


HEELS 


AY 


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THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AN   INSOLENT   MEMORY. 

"I'm  so  blind,"  said  Miss  Ferrars  plaintive!}7. 
"  Where  are  my  glasses  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  to  see?  "  asked  Lord  Seming- 
ham. 

"  The  man  in  the  corner,  talking  to  Mr.  Loring." 

"  Oh,  you  won't  know  him  even  with  the  glasses. 
He's  the  sort  of  man  you  must  be  introduced  to  three 
times  before  there's  any  chance  of  a  permanent  im- 
pression." 

"  You  seem  to  recognise  him." 

"  I  know  him  in  business.  We  are,  or  rather  are 
going  to  be,  fellow-directors  of  a  company." 

"  Oh,  then  I  shall  see  you  in  the  dock  together 
some  day." 

"  What  touching  faith  in  the  public  prosecutor ! 
Does  nothing  shake  your  optimism  ?  " 

(l) 


2  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Perhaps  your  witticisms." 

"  Peace,  peace  !  " 

"Well,  who  is  he?" 

"  He  was  once,"  observed  Lord  Semingham,  as 
though  stating  a  curious  fact,  "in  a  Government. 
His  name  is  Foster  Belford,  and  he  is  still  asked  to 
the  State  Concerts." 

"  I  knew  I  knew  him !  Why,  Harry  Dennison 
thinks  great  things  of  him  ! " 

"  It  is  possible." 

"  And  he,  not  to  be  behindhand  in  politeness, 
thinks  greater  of  Maggie  Dennison." 

"  His  task  is  the  easier." 

"And  you  and  he  are  going  to  have  the  effrontery 
to  ask  shareholders  to  trust  their  money  to  you?" 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  us ;  it's  Ruston." 

"  Mr.  Ruston  ?     I've  heard  of  him." 

"  You  very  rarely  admit  that  about  anybody." 

"  Moreover,  I've  met  him." 

"  He's  quite  coming  to  the  front,  of  late,  I  know." 

"  Is  there  any  positive  harm  in  being  in  the  fash- 
ion ?  I  like  now  and  then  to  talk  to  the  people  one  is 
obliged  to  talk  about." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Lord  Semingham,  urbanely. 

"  But,  my  dear  Lord  Semingham " 

"  Hush  !     Keep  the  truth  from   me,  like  a  kind 

woman.     Ah  !  here  comes  Tom  Loring How  are 

you,  Loring?     Where's  Dennison?" 


AN   INSOLENT  MEMORY.  3 

"  At  the  House.     I  ought  to  be  there,  too." 

"  Why,  of  course.     The  place  of  a  private  secretary 
is  by  the  side  of " 

"  His  chief's  wife.     We  all  know  that,"  interposed 
Adela  Ferrars. 

"  When  you  grow  old,  you'll  be  sorry  for  all  the 
wicked  things  you've  said,"  observed  Loring. 

"  Well,  there'll  be  nothing  else  to  do.     Where  are 
you  going,  Lord  Semingham  ?  " 

"  Home." 

"Why?" 

"  Because   I've  done   my   duty.      Oh,   but  here's 
Dennison,  and  I  want  a  word  with  him." 

Lord  Semingham  passed  on,  leaving  the  other  two 
together. 

"Has  Harry  Dennison    been    speaking  to-day?" 
asked  Miss  Ferrars. 

"  Well,  he  had  something  prepared." 

"  He  had  something  !    You  know  you  write  them." 

Mr.  Loring  frowned. 

"Yes,  and  I  know  we  aren't  allowed  to  say  so," 
pursued  Adela. 

"  It's  neither  just  nor  kind  to  Dennison." 

Miss  Ferrars  looked  at   him,   her   brows  slightly 
raised. 

"And   you   are  both  just  and  kind,  really,"  he 
added. 

"  And  you,    Mr.    Loring,   are   a   wonderful    man. 


4  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

You're  not  ashamed  to  be  serious !  Oh,  yes,  I've  an- 
noyed— you're  quite  right.  I  was — whatever  I  was — 
on  the  ninth  of  last  March,  and  I  think  I'm  too  old  to 
be  lectured." 

Tom  Loring  laughed,  and,  an  instant  later,  Adela 
followed  suit. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  horrid  of  me,"  she  said.  "  Can't 
we  turn  it  round  and  consider  it  as  a  compliment  to 
you  ?  " 

Tom  looked  doubtful,  but,  before  he  could  answer, 
Adela  cried  : 

"  Oh,  here's  Evan  Haselden,  and — yes — it's  Mr. 
Ruston  with  him  ?  " 

As  the  two  men  entered,  Mrs.  Dennison  rose  from 
her  chair.  She  was  a  tall  woman  ;  her  years  fell  one 
or  two  short  of  thirty.  She  was  not  a  beauty,  but  her 
broad  brow  and  expressive  features,  joined  to  a  certain 
subdued  dignity  of  manner  and  much  grace  of  move- 
ment, made  her  conspicuous  among  the  women  in  her 
drawing-room.  Young  Evan  Haselden  seemed  to  ap- 
preciate her,  for  he  bowed  his  glossy  curly  head,  and 
shook  hands  in  a  way  that  almost  turned  the  greeting 
into  a  deferentially  distant  caress.  Mrs.  Dennison  ac- 
knowledged his  hinted  homage  with  a  bright  smile, 
and  turned  to  Ruston. 

"At  last!"  she  said,  with  another  smile.  "The 
first  time  after — how  many  years?" 

"  Eight,  I  believe,"  he  answered. 


AN   INSOLENT   MEMORY.  5 

"  Oh,  you're  terribly  definite.  And  what  have  you 
been  doing  with  yourself  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  square  shoulders,  and  she  did  not 
press  her  question,  but  let  her  eyes  wander  over  him. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Oh— improved.     And  I  ?  " 

Suddenly  Ruston  laughed. 

"  Last  time  we  met,"  he  said,  "  you  swore  you'd 
never  speak  to  me  again." 

"  I'd  quite  forgotten  my  fearful  threat." 

He  looked  straight  in  her  face  for  a  moment,  as 
he  asked — 

"  And  the  cause  of  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dennison  coloured. 

"  Yes,  quite,"  she  answered ;  and  conscious  that 
her  words  carried  no  conviction  to  him,  she  added 
hastily,  "  Go  and  speak  to  Harry.     There  he  is." 

Euston  obeyed  her,  and  being  left  for  a  moment 
alone,  she  sat  down  on  the  chair  placed  ready  near 
the  door  for  her  short  intervals  of  rest.  There  was  a 
slight  pucker  on  her  brow.  The  sight  of  Ruston  and 
his  question  stirred  in  her  thoughts,  which  were  never 
long  dormant,  and  which  his  coming  woke  into  sud- 
den activity.  She  had  not  anticipated  that  he  would 
venture  to  recall  to  her  that  incident — at  least,  not  at 
once — in  the  first  instant  of  meeting,  at  such  a  time 
and  such  a  place.  But  as  he  had,  she  found  herself 
yielding  to  the  reminiscence  he  induced.     Forgotten 


6  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

the  cause  of  her  anger  with  him?  For  the  first  two 
or  three  years  of  her  married  life,  she  would  have 
answered,  "  Yes,  I  have  forgotten  it."  Then  had 
come  a  period  when  now  and  again  it  recurred  to  her, 
not  for  his  sake  or  its  own,  but  as  a  summary  of  her 
stifled  feeling;  and  during  that  period  she  had  reso- 
lutely struggled  not  to  remember  it.  Of  late  that 
struggle  had  ceased,  and  the  thing  lay  a  perpetual 
background  to  her  thoughts :  when  there  was  nothing 
else  to  think  about,  when  the  stage  of  her  mind  was 
empty  of  moving  figures,  it  snatched  at  the  chance 
of  prominence,  and  thus  became  a  recurrent  con- 
sciousness from  which  her  interests  and  her  occupa- 
tions could  not  permanently  rescue  her.  For  exam- 
ple, here  she  was  thinking  of  it  in  the  very  midst  of 
her  party.  Yet  this  persistence  of  memory  seemed 
impertinent,  unreasonable,  almost  insolent.  For,  as 
she  told  herself,  finding  it  necessary  to  tell  herself 
more  and  more  often,  her  husband  was  still  all  that 
he  had  been  when  he  had  won  her  heart — good-look- 
ing, good-tempered,  infinitely  kind  and  devoted. 
When  she  married  she  had  triumphed  confidently  in 
these  qualities  ;  and  the  unanimous  cry  of  surprised 
congratulations  at  the  match  she  was  making  had 
confirmed  her  own  joy  and  exultation  in  it.  It  had 
been  a  great  match  ;  and  yet,  beyond  all  question,  also 
a  love  match. 

But  now  the  chorus  of  wondering   applause  was 


AN  INSOLENT  MEMORY.  7 

forgotten,  and  there  remained  only  the  one  voice 
which  had  been  raised  to  break  the  harmony  of  ap- 
probation— a  voice  that  nobody,  herself  least  of  all, 
had  listened  to  then.  How  should  it  be  listened  to  ? 
It  came  from  a  nobody — a  young  man  of  no  account, 
whose  opinion  none  cared  to  ask ;  whose  judgment, 
had  it  been  worth  anything  in  itself,  lay  under  sus- 
picion of  being  biassed  by  jealousy.  Willie  Ruston 
had  never  declared  himself  her  suitor ;  yet  (she  clung 
hard  to  this)  he  would  not  have  said  what  he  did  had 
not  the  chagrin  of  a  defeated  rival  inspired  him ;  and 
a  defeated  rival,  as  everybody  knows,  will  say  any- 
thing. Certainly  she  had  been  right  not  to  listen, 
and  was  wrong  to  remember.  To  this  she  had  often 
made  up  her  mind,  and  to  this  she  returned  now  as 
she  sat  watching  her  husband  and  Willie  Ruston,  for- 
getful of  all  the  chattering  crowd  beside. 

As  to  what  it  was  she  resolved  not  to  remember, 
and  did  remember,  it  was  just  one  sentence — his  only 
comment  on  the  news  of  her  engagement,  his  only 
hint  of  any  opinion  or  feeling  about  it.  It  was  short, 
sharp,  decisive,  and,  as  his  judgments  were,  even  in 
the  days  when  he,  alone  of  all  the  world,  held  them  of 
any  moment,  absolutely  confident;  it  was  also,  she 
had  felt  on  hearing  it,  utterly  untrue,  unjust,  and  un- 
generous. It  had  rung  out  like  a  pistol-shot,  "  Mag- 
gie, you're  marrying  a  fool,"  and  then  a  snap  of  tight- 
fitting  lips,  a  glance  of  scornful  eyes,  and  a  quick, 


8  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

unhesitating  stride  away  that  hardly  waited  for  a  con- 
temptuous smile  at  her  angry  cry,  "  I'll  never  spe;ik 
to  you  again."  She  had  been  in  a  fury  of  wrath — she 
had  a  power  of  wrath — that  a  plain,  awkward,  penni- 
less, and  obscure  youth — one  whom  she  sometimes 
disliked  for  his  arrogance,  and  sometimes  derided  for 
his  self-confidence — should  dare  to  say  such  a  thing 
about  her  Harry,  whom  she  was  so  proud  to  love,  and 
so  proud  to  have  won.  It  was  indeed  an  insolent 
memory  that  flung  the  thing  again  and  again  in  her 
teeth. 

The  party  began  to  melt  away.  The  first  good- 
bye roused  Mrs.  Dennison  from  her  enveloping  rev- 
erie. Lady  Valentine,  from  whom  it  came,  lingered 
for  a  gush  of  voluble  confidences  about  the  charm  of 
the  house,  and  the  people,  and  the  smart  little  band 
that  played  softly  in  an  alcove,  and  what  not;  her 
daughter  stood  by,  learning,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  how  it 
is  meet  to  behave  in  society,  and  scanning  Evan  Has- 
elden's  trim  figure  with  wary,  critical  glances,  alert  to 
turn  aside  if  he  should  glance  her  way.  Mrs.  Denni- 
son returned  the  ball  of  civility,  and,  released  by  sev- 
eral more  departures,  joined  Adela  Ferrars.  Adela 
stood  facing  Haselden  and  Tom  Loring,  who  were 
arm-in-arm.  At  the  other  end  of  the  room  Harry 
Dennison  and  Huston  were  still  in  conversation. 

"  These  men,  Maggie,"  began  Adela — and  it  seemed 
a  mere  caprice  of  pronunciation,  that  the  word  did 


AN   INSOLENT   MEMORY.  9 

not  shape  itself  into  "  monkeys  " — "  are  the  absurdest 
creatures.  They  say  I'm  not  fit  to  take  part  in  poli- 
tics !     And  why?" 

Mrs.  Dennison  shook  her  head,  and  smiled. 

"  Because,  if  you  please,  I'm  too  emotional.  Emo- 
tional, indeed  !  And  I  can't  generalise  !  Oh,  couldn't 
I  generalise  about  men  !  " 

"  Women  can  never  say  '  No,'  "  observed  Evan 
Haselden,  not  in  the  least  as  if  he  were  repeating  a 
commonplace. 

"  You'll  find  you're  wrong  when  you  grow  up," 
retorted  Adela. 

"  I  doubt  that,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison,  with  the 
kindest  of  smiles. 

"  Maggie,  you  spoil  the  boy.  Isn't  it  enough  that 
he  should  have  gone  straight  from  the  fourth  form — 
where,  I  suppose,  he  learnt  to  generalise " 

"  At  any  rate,  not  to  be  emotional,"  murmured 
Loring. 

"  Into  Parliament,  without  having  his  head  turned 
by " 

"  You'd  better  go,  Evan,"  suggested  Loring  in  a 
warning  tone. 

"  I  shall  go  too,"  announced  Adela. 

"  I'm  walking  )rour  way,"  said  Evan,  who  seemed 
to  bear  no  malice. 

"  How  delightful ! " 

"You  don't  object?" 


10  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Not  the  least.     I'm  driving." 

"  A  mere  schoolbov  score  !  " 

"  How  stupid  of  me !  You  haven't  had  time  to 
forget  them." 

"  Oh,  take  her  away,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison,  and 
they  disappeared  in  a  fire  of  retorts,  happy,  or  happy 
enough  for  happy  people,  and  probably  Evan  drove 
with  the  lady  after  all. 

Mrs.  Dennison  walked  towards  where  her  husband 
and  Ruston  sat  on  a  sofa  in  talk. 

"What  are  you  two  conspiring  about?"  she 
asked. 

"  Ruston  had  something  to  say  to  me  about  busi- 
ness." 

"  What,  already  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we've  met  in  the  city,  Mrs.  Dennison,"  ex- 
plained Ruston,  with  a  confidential  nod  to  Harry. 

"  And  that  was  the  object  of  your  appearance  here 
to-day  ?     I  was  flattering  my  party,  it  seems." 

"No.  I  didn't  expect  to  find  your  husband.  I 
thought  he  would  be  at  the  House." 

"  Ah,  Harry,  how  did  the  speech  go?" 

"  Oh,  really  pretty  well,  I  think,"  answered  Harry 
Dennison,  with  a  contented  air.  "I  got  nearly  half 
through  before  we  were  counted  out." 

A  very  faint  smile  showed  on  his  wife's  face. 

"  Sd  you  were  counted  out  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  or  I  shouldn't  be  here." 


AN   INSOLENT   MEMORY.  11 

"  You  sco,  I  am  acquitted,  Mrs.  Dennison.  Only 
an  accident  brought  him  here." 

"  An  accident  impossible  to  foresee,"  she  ac- 
quiesced, with  the  slightest  trace  of  bitterness — so 
Blight  that  her  husband  did  not  notice  it. 

Huston  rose. 

"  Well,  you'd  better  talk  to  Semingham  about  it," 
he  remarked  to  Harry  Dennison  ;  "  he's  one  of  us, 
you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  will.  And  I'll  just  get  you  that  pamphlet 
of  mine  ;  you  can  put  it  in  your  pocket." 

He  ran  out  of  the  room  to  fetch  what  he  promised. 
Mrs.  Dennison,  still  faintly  smiling,  held  out  her  hand 
to  Ruston. 

"  It's  been  very  pleasant  to  see  you  again,"  she 
said  graciously.  "  I  hope  it  won't  be  eight  years 
before  our  next  meeting." 

"  Oh,  no ;  you  see  I'm  floating  now." 

"  Floating  ? "  she  repeated,  with  a  smile  of  en- 
quiry. 

"  Yes ;  on  the  surface.  I've  been  in  the  depths 
till  very  lately,  and  there  one  meets  no  good  society." 

"  Ah  !  You've  had  a  struggle  ?  " 

"  Y'es,"  he  answered,  laughing ;  "  you  may  call  it  a 
bit  of  a  struggle." 

She  looked  at  him  with  grave  curious  eyes. 

"  And  you  are  not  married  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

"  No,  I'm  glad  to  say." 


12  THE   GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Why  glad,  Mr.  Ruston  ?  Some  people  like  being 
married." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  claim  to  be  above  it,  Mrs.  Dennison," 
he  answered  with  a  laugh,  "  but  a  wife  would  have 
been  a  great  hindrance  to  me  all  these  years." 

There  was  a  simple  and  bona  fide  air  about  his 
statement ;  it  was  not  raillery  ;  and  Mrs.  Dennison 
laughed  in  her  turn. 

"  Oh,  how  like  you  !  "  she  murmured. 

Mr.  Ruston,  with  a  passing  gleam  of  surprise  at 
her  merriment,  bade  her  a  very  unemotional  farewell, 
and  left  her.  She  sat  down  and  waited  idly  for  her 
husband's  return.  Presently  he  came  in.  He  had 
caught  Ruston  in  the  hall,  delivered  his  pamphlet, 
and  was  whistling  cheerfully.  He  took  a  chair  near 
his  wife. 

"  Rum  chap  that ! "  he  said.  "  But  he's  got  a  good 
deal  of  stuff  in  him  ; "  and  he  resumed  his  lively  tune. 

The  tune  annoyed  Mrs.  Dennison.  To  suffer 
whistling  without  visible  offence  was  one  of  her  daily 
trials.  Harry's  emotions  and  reflections  were  prone 
to  express  themselves  through  that  medium. 

"  I  didn't  do  half-badly,  to-day,"  said  Harry,  break- 
ing off  again.  "  Old  Tom  had  got  it  all  splendidly  in 
shape  for  me — by  Jove,  I  don't  know  what  I  should 
do  without  Tom — and  I  think  I  put  it  pretty  well. 
But,  of  course,  it's  a  subject  that  doesn't  catch  on 
with  everybody." 


AN   INSOLENT   MEMORY.  13 

It  was  the  dullest  subject  in  the  world  ;  it  was 
also,  in  all  likelihood,  one  of  the  most  unimportant ; 
and  dull  subjects  are  so  seldom  unimportant  that  the 
perversity  of  the  combination  moved  Maggie  Denni- 
son  to  a  wondering  pity.  She  rose  and  came  behind 
the  chair  where  her  husband  sat.  Leaning  over  the 
back,  she  rested  her  elbows  on  his  shoulders,  and 
lightly  clasped  her  hands  round  his  neck.  He 
stopped  his  whistle,  which  had  grown  soft  and  con- 
tented, laughed,  and  kissed  one  of  the  encircling 
hands,  and  she,  bending  lower,  kissed  him  on  the 
forehead  as  he  turned  his  face  up  to  look  at  her. 

"  You  poor  dear  old  thing  ! "  she  said  with  a  smile 


and  a  sigh. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    COINING    OF   A    NICKNAME. 

When  it  was  no  later  than  the  middle  of  June, 
Adela  Ferrars,  having  her  reputation  to  maintain, 
ventured  to  sum  up  the  season.  It  was,  she  said,  a 
Ruston-cum-Violetta  season.  Violetta's  doings  and 
unexampled  triumphs  have,  perhaps  luckily,  no  place 
here  ;  her  dancing  was  higher  and  her  songs  more 
surpassing  in  another  dimension  than  those  of  any 
performer  who  had  hitherto  won  the  smiles  of  so- 
ciety ;  and  young  men  who  are  getting  on  in  life  still 
talk  about  her.  Ruston's  fame  was  less  widespread, 
but  his  appearance  was  an  undeniable  fact  of  the 
year.  When  a  man,  the  first  five  years  of  whose  adult 
life  have  been  spent  on  a  stool  in  a  coal  merchant's 
office,  and  the  second  five  somewhere  (an  absolutely 
vague  somewhere)  in  Southern  or  Central  Africa, 
comes  before  the  public,  offering  in  one  closed  hand  a 
new  empire,  or,  to  avoid  all  exaggeration,  at  least  a 
province,  asking  with  the  other  opened  hand  for  three 
million  pounds,  the   public   is   bound  to  afford  him 

(14) 


THE  COINING   OF  A   NICKNAME.  15 

the  tribute  of  some  curiosity.  When  he  enlists  in  his 
scheme  men  of  eminence  like  Mr.  Foster  Belford,  of 
rank  like  Lord  Semingham,  of  great  financial  re- 
sources like  Dennison  Sous  &  Company,  he  becomes 
one  whom  it  is  expedient  to  bid  to  dinner  and  ex- 
amine with  scrutinising  enquiry.  He  may  have  a  bag 
of  gold  for  you  ;  or  you  may  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  ex- 
ploding his  prestige  ;  at  least,  you  are  timely  and  up- 
to-date,  and  none  can  say  that  your  house  is  a  den  of 
fogies,  or  yourself,  in  the  language  made  to  express 
these  things  (for  how  otherwise  should  they  get 
themselves  expressed  ?)  on  other  than  "  the  inner 
rail." 

It  chanced  that  Miss  Ferrars  arrived  early  at  the 
Seminghams,  and  she  talked  with  her  host  on  the 
hearth-rug,  while  Lady  Semingham  was  elaborately 
surveying  her  small  but  comely  person  in  a  mirror  at 
the  other  end  of  the  long  room.  Lord  Semingham 
was  rather  short  and  rather  stout ;  he  hardly  looked 
as  if  his  ancestors  had  fought  at  Hastings — perhaps 
they  had  not,  though  the  peerage  said  they  had.  He 
wore  close-cut  black  whiskers,  and  the  blue  of  his 
jowl  witnessed  a  suppressed  beard  of  great  vitality. 
His  single  eye-glass  reflected  answering  twinkles  to 
Adela's  pince-nez,  and  his  mouth  was  puckered  at 
the  world's  constant  entertainment ;  men  said  that 
he  found  his  wife  alone  a  sufficient  and  inexhaustible 
amusemeut. 


1G  THE  GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

"  The  Heathers  are  coming,"  he  said,  "  and  Lady 
Val  and  Marjory,  and  young  Haselden,  and  Ruston." 

"  Tou jours  Ruston,"  murmured  Adela. 

"  And  one  or  two  more.  What's  wrong  with  Rus- 
ton? There  is,  my  dear  Adela,  no  attitude  more  of- 
fensive than  that  of  indifference  to  what  the  common 
herd  finds  interesting." 

"  He's  a  fright,"  said  Adela.  "  You'd  spike  your- 
self on  that  bristly  beard  of  his." 

"  If  you  happened  to  be  near  enough,  you  mean  ? 
— a  danger  my  sex  and  our  national  habits  render 
remote.     Bessie  !  " 

Lady  Semingham  came  towards  them,  with  one 
last  craning  look  at  her  own  back  as  she  turned. 
She  always  left  the  neighbourhood  of  a  mirror  with 
regret. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  asked  with  a  patient  little  sigh. 

"Adela  is  abusing  your  friend  Ruston." 

"He's  not  my  friend,  Alfred.  What's  the  matter, 
Adela  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  like  him.     He's  hard." 

"He's  got  a  demon,  you  see,"  said  Semingham. 
"  For  that  matter  we  all  have,  but  his  is  a  whopper." 

"  Oh,  what's  my  demon  ?  "  cried  Adela.  Is  not 
oneself  always  the  most  interesting  subject  ? 

"  Yours  ?  Cleverness ;  he  goads  you  into  saying 
things  one  can't  see  the  meaning  of." 

"Thanks!     And  yours?" 


THE   (JOINING   OF   A   NICKNAME.  17 

"Grinning — so  I  grin  at  your  things,  though  I 
don't  understand  'em." 

"And  Bessie's?" 

"  Oh,  forgive  me.     Leave  us  a  quiet  home." 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Ruston's  ?  " 

"  His  is " 

But  the  door  opened,  and  the  guests,  all  arriving 
in  a  heap,  just  twenty  minutes  late,  flooded  the  room 
and  drowned  the  topic.  Another  five  minutes  passed, 
and  people  had  begun  furtively  to  count  heads  and 
wonder  whom  they  were  waiting  for,  when  Evan 
Haselden  was  announced.  Hot  on  his  heels  came 
Ruston,  and  the  party  was  completed. 

Mr.  Otto  Heather  took  Adela  Ferrars  in  to  din- 
ner. Her  heart  sank  as  he  offered  his  arm.  She 
had  been  heard  to  call  him  the  silliest  man  in  Eu- 
rope ;  on  the  other  hand,  his  wife,  and  some  half- 
dozen  people  besides,  thought  him  the  cleverest  in 
London. 

"  That  man,"  he  said,  swallowing  his  soup  and 
nodding  his  head  towards  Ruston,  "  personifies  all  the 
hideous  tendencies  of  the  age — its  brutality,  its  com- 
mercialism, its  selfishness,  its " 

Miss  Ferrars  looked  across  the  table.  Ruston  was 
seated  at  Lady  Semingham's  left  hand,  and  she  was 
prattling  to  him  in  her  sweet  indistinct  little  voice. 
Nothing  in  his  appearance  warranted  Heather's  out- 
burst, unless  it  were  a  sort  of  alert  and  almost  defiant 


18  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

readiness,  smacking  of  a  challenge  to  catch  him  nap- 
ping. 

"  I'm  not  a  medievalist  myself,"  she  observed, 
and  prepared  to  endure  the  penalty  of  an  expose  of 
Heather's  theories.  During  its  progress,  she  peered — 
for  her  near  sight  was  no  affectation — now  and  again  at 
the  occasion  of  her  sufferings.  She  had  heard  a  good 
deal  about  him — something  from  her  host,  something 
from  Harry  Dennison,  more  from  the  paragraphists 
who  had  scented  their  prey,  and  gathered  from  the 
four  quarters  of  heaven  (or  wherever  they  dwelt) 
upon  him.  She  knew  about  the  coal  merchant's 
office,  the  impatient  flight  from  it,  and  the  rush 
over  the  seas ;  there  were  stories  of  real  naked  want, 
where  a  bed  and  shelter  bounded  for  the  moment 
all  a  life's  aspirations.  She  summed  him  up  as  a 
buccaneer  modernised ;  and  one  does  not  expect 
buccaneers  to  be  amiable,  while  culture  in  them 
would  be  an  incongruity.  It  was,  on  the  whole, 
not  very  surprising,  she  thought,  that  few  people 
liked  William  Roger  Huston — nor  that  many  believed 
in  him. 

"  Don't  you  agree  with  me  ?  "  asked  Heather. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Adela  at  random. 

The  odds  that  he  had  been  saying  something  fool- 
ish were  very  large. 

"  I  thought  you  were  such  friends ! "  exclaimed 
Heather  in  surprise. 


THE  COINING  OP  A  NICKNAME.  10 

"  Well,  to  confess,  I  was  thinking  of  something 
else.     Who  do  yon  mean  ?  " 

"Why,  Mrs.  Dennison.  I  was  saying  that  her 
calm  qneenly  manner " 

"Good  gracious,  Mr."  Heather,  don't  call  women 
'queenly.'  You're  like  —  what  is  it?  —  a  'dime 
novel.' " 

If  this  comparison  were  meant  to  relieve  her  from 
the  genius'  conversation  for  the  rest  of  dinner,  it 
was  admirably  conceived.  He  turned  his  shoulder  on 
her  in  undisguised  dudgeon. 

"  And  how's  the  great  scheme  ?  "  asked  somebody 
of  Ruston. 

"  We  hope  to  get  the  money,"  he  said,  turning  for 
a  moment  from  his  hostess.  "And  if  we  do  that, 
we're  all  right." 

"  Everything's  going  on  very  well,"  called  Seming- 
ham  from  the  foot  of  the  table.  "  They've  killed  a 
missionary." 

"  How  dreadful !  "  lisped  his  wife. 

"  Regrettable  in  itself,  but  the  first  step  towards 
empire,"  explained  Semingham  with  a  smile. 

"  It's  to  stop  things  of  that  kind  that  we  are  going 
there,"  Mr.  Belford  pronounced ;  the  speech  was  evi- 
dently meant  to  be  repeated,  and  to  rank  as  authori- 
tative. 

"  Of  course,"  chuckled  Semingham. 

If  he  had  been  a  shopman,  he   could    not  have 


20  THE   GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

resisted  showing  his  customers  how  the  adulteration 
was  done. 

In  spite  of  herself — for  she  strongly  objected  to 
being  one  of  an  admiring  crowd,  and  liked  a  personal 
cachet  on  her  emotions — Adela  felt  pleasure  when, 
after  dinner,  Rnston  came  straight  to  her  and,  dis- 
placing Evan  Haselden,  sat  down  by  her  side.  He 
assumed  the  position  with  a  business-like  air,  as 
though  he  meant  to  stay.  She  often,  indeed  habitu- 
ally, had  two  or  three  men  round  her,  but  to-night 
none  contested  Euston's  exclusive  possession ;  she 
fancied  that  the  business-like  air  had  something  to  do 
with  it.  She  had  been  taken  possession  of,  she  said 
to  herself,  with  a  little  impatience  and  yet  a  little 
pleasure  also. 

"  You  know  everybody  here,  I  suppose  ?  "  he  asked. 
His  tone  cast  a  doubt  on  the  value  of  the  knowledge. 

"  It's  my  tenth  season,"  said  Adela,  with  a  laugh. 
"  I  stopped  counting  them  once,  but  there  comes  a 
time  when  one  has  to  begin  again." 

He  looked  at  her — critically,  she  thought — as  he 
said, 

"  The  ravages  of  time  no  longer  to  be  ignored  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  exaggerations  of  friends  to  be  checked. 
Yes,  I  suppose  I  know  most  of " 

She  paused  for  a  word. 

"  The  gang,"  he  suggested,  leaning  back  and  cross- 
ing his  legs. 


THE  COINING   OF  A   NICKNAME.  2L 

"  Yes,  we  are  a  gang,  and  all  on  one  chain.  You're 
a  recent  captive,  though." 

"  Y"es,"  he  assented,  "  it's  pretty  new  to  me.  A 
year  ago  I  hadn't  a  dress  coat." 

"  The  gods  are  giving  you  a  second  youth  then." 

"  Well,  I  take  it.  I  don't  know  that  1  have  much 
to  thank  the  gods  for." 

"They've  been  mostly  against  you,  haven't  they? 
However,  what  does  that  matter,  if  you  beat 
them  ?  " 

He  did  not  disdain  her  compliment,  but  neither 
did  he  accept  it.  He  ignored  it,  and  Adela,  who  paid 
very  few  compliments,  was  amused  and  vexed. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  added,  "  you  think  your  victory 
still  incomplete  ?  " 

This  gained  no  better  attention.  Mr.  Ruston 
seemed  to  be  following  his  own  thoughts. 

"  It  must  be  a  curious  thing,"  he  remarked,  "  to 
be  born  to  a  place  like  Semingham's." 

"  And  to  use  it — or  not  to  use  it — like  Lord  Sem- 
ingham?" 

"Yes,  I  was  thinking  of  that,"  he  admitted. 

"  To  be  eminent  requires  some  self-deception, 
doesn't  it?  Without  that,  it  would  seem  too  absurd. 
I  think  Lord  Semingham  is  overweighted  with  hu- 
mour." She  paused  and  then — to  show  that  she  was 
not  in  awe  of  him — she  added, — "  Now,  I  should  say, 
you  have  very  little." 


22  THE  GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

"  Very  little,  indeed,  I  should  think,"  he  agreed 
composedly. 

"  You're  the  only  man  I  ever  heard  admit  that  of 
himself ;  we  all  say  it  of  one  another." 

"  I  know  what  I  have  and  haven't  got  pretty  well." 

Adela  was  beginning  to  be  more  sure  that  she  dis- 
liked him,  but  the  topic  had  its  interest  for  her  and 
she  went  on, 

"  Now  I  like  to  think  I've  got  everything." 

To  her  annoyance,  the  topic  seemed  to  lose  inter- 
est for  him,  just  in  proportion  as  it  gained  interest  for 
her.  In  fact,  Mr.  Huston  did  not  apparently  care  to 
talk  about  what  she  liked  or  didn't  like. 

"Who's  that  pretty  girl  over  there,"  he  asked, 
"  talking  to  young  Haselden  ?  " 

"  Marjory  Valentine,"  said  Adela  curtly. 

"  Oh  !     I  think  I  should  like  to  talk  to  her." 
-   "  Pray,  don't  let  me  prevent  you,"  said  Adela  in 
very  distant  tones. 

The  man  seemed  to  have  no  manners. 

Mr.  Ruston  said  nothing,  but  gave  a  short  laugh. 
Adela  was  not  accustomed  to  be  laughed  at  openly. 
Yet  she  felt  defenceless  ;  this  pachydermatous  animal 
would  be  impervious  to  the  pricks  of  her  rapier. 

"  You're  amused  ?  "  she  asked  sharply. 

"Why  were  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  take  offence? 
I  didn't  say  I  wanted  to  go  and  talk  to  her  now." 

"  It  sounded  like  it." 


THE  COINING   OF   A   NICKNAME.  23 

"  Oh,  well,  I'm  very  sorry,"  he  conceded,  still  smil- 
ing, and  obviously  thinking  her  very  absurd. 

She  rose  from  her  seat. 

"  Please  do,  though.  She'll  be  going  soon,  and 
you  mayn't  get  another  chance." 

"  Well,  I  will  then,"  he  answered  simply,  accom- 
panying the  remark  with  a  nod  of  approval  for  her 
sensible  reminder.     And  he  went  at  once. 

She  saw  him  touch  Haselden  on  the  shoulder,  and 
make  the  young  man  present  him  to  Marjory.  Rus- 
ton  sat  down  and  Haselden  drifted,  aimless  and  for- 
lorn, on  a  solitary  passage  along  the  length  of  the 
room. 

Adela  joined  Lady  Semingham. 

"  That's  a  dreadful  man,  Bessie,"  she  said ;  "  he's  a 
regular  Juggernaut." 

She  disturbed  Lady  Semingham  in  a  moment  of 
happiness ;  everybody  had  been  provided  with  conver- 
sation, and  the  hostess  could  sit  in  peaceful  silence, 
looking,  and  knowing  that  she  looked,  very  dainty 
and  pretty  ;  she  liked  that  much  better  than  talking. 

"  Who's  what,  dear  ?  "  she  murmured. 

"That  man — Mr.  Ruston.  I  say  he's  a  Jugger- 
naut. If  you're  in  the  way,  he  just  walks  over  you — 
and  sometimes  when  you're  not :  for  fun,  I  suppose." 

"  Alfred  says  he's  very  clever,"  observed  Lady  Sem- 
ingham, in  a  tone  that  evaded  any  personal  responsi- 
bility for  the  truth  of  the  statement. 


24  THE  GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

"  Well,  I  dislike  him  very  much,"  declared  Adela. 

"  We  won't  have  him  again  when  you're  coming, 
dear,"  promised  her  friend  soothingly. 

Adela  looked  at  her,  hesitated,  opened  her  fan, 
shut  it  again,  and  smiled. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that,  Bessie,"  she  said  with 
half  a  laugh.     "  Do,  please." 

"  But  if  you  dislike  him " 

"  Why,  my  dear,  doesn't  one  hate  half  the  men  one 
likes  meeting — and  all  the  women  !  " 

Lady  Semingham  smiled  amiably.  She  did  not 
care  to  think  out  what  that  meant;  it  was  Adela's 
way,  just  as  it  was  her  husband's  way  to  laugh  at 
many  things  that  seemed  to  her  to  afford  no  opening 
for  mirth.  But  Adela  was  not  to  escape.  Seming- 
ham himself  appeared  suddenly  at  her  elbow,  and 
observed, 

"  That's  either  nonsense  or  a  truism,  you  know." 

"  Neither,"  said  Adela  with  spirit ;  but  her  defence 
was  interrupted  by  Evan  Haselden. 

"  I'm  going,"  said  he,  and  he  looked  out  of  temper. 
"  I've  got  another  place  to  go  to.     And  anyhow " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  I'd  like  to  be  somewhere  where  that  chap  Huston 
isn't  for  a  little  while." 

Adela  glanced  across.  Ruston  was  still  talking  to 
Marjory  Valentine. 

"  What  can  he  find  to  say  to  her?  "  thought  Adela. 


THE   COINING   OF   A    NICKNAME.  25 

"  What  the  deuce  she  finds  to  talk  about  to  that 
fellow,  I  can't  think,"  pursued  Evan,  and  lie  flung  off 
to  bid  Lady  Semingham  good-night. 

Adela  caught  her  host's  eye  and  laughed.  Lord 
Semingham's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  It's  a  big  province,"  he  observed,  "  so  there  may 
be  room  for  him — out  there." 

"I,"  said  Adela,  with  an  air  of  affected  modesty, 
"have  ventured,  subject  to  your  criticism,  to  dub  him 
Juggernaut." 

"  H'm,"  said  Semingham,  "  it's  a  little  obvious,  but 
not  so  bad  for  you." 


CHAPTER   III. 


MRS.    DENNISON'S   ORDERS. 


Next  door  to  Mrs.  Dennison's  large  house  in  Cur- 
zon  Street  there  lived,  in  a  small  house,  a  friend  of 
hers,  a  certain  Mrs.  Cormack.  She  was  a  French- 
woman, who  had  been  married  to  an  Englishman,  and 
was  now  his  most  resigned  widow.  She  did  not  pre- 
tend to  herself,  or  to  anybody  else,  that  Mr.  Cormack's 
death  had  been  a  pure  misfortune,  and  by  virtue  of 
her  past  trials — perhaps,  also,  of  her  nationality — she 
was  keenly  awake  to  the  seamy  side  of  matrimony. 
She  would  rhapsodise  on  the  joys  of  an  ideal  marriage, 
with  a  skilful  hint  of  its  rarity,  and  condemn  trans- 
gressors with  a  charitable  reservation  for  insupportable 
miseries.  She  was,  she  said,  very  romantic.  Tom 
Loring,  however  (whose  evidence  was  tainted  by  an 
intense  dislike  of  her),  declared  that  affaires  du  caiur 
interested  her  only  when  one  at  least  of  the  parties 
was  lawfully  bound  to  a  third  person  ;  when  both 
were  thus  trammelled,  the  situation  was  ideal.  But 
the  loves  of  those  who  were  in  a  position  to  marry  one 

(26) 


MRS.  DENNISON'S  ORDERS.  27 

another,  and  had  no  particular  reason  for  not  follow- 
ing that  legitimate  path  to  happiness,  seemed  to  her 
(still  according  to  Tom)  dull,  uninspiring — all,  in  fact, 
that  there  was  possible  of  English  and  stupid.  She 
hardly  (Tom  would  go  on,  warming  to  his  subject) 
believed  in  them  at  all,  and  she  was  in  the  habit  of  re- 
garding wedlock  merely  as  a  condition  precedent  to 
its  own  violent  dissolution.  Whether  this  unhappy 
mode  of  looking  at  the  matter  were  due  to  her  own 
peculiarities,  or  to  those  of  the  late  Mr.  Cormack, 
or  to  those  of  her  nation,  Tom  did  not  pretend  to 
say ;  he  confined  himself  to  denouncing  it  freely, 
and  to  telling  Mrs.  Dennison  that  her  next-door 
neighbour  was  in  all  respects  a  most  undesirable  ac- 
quaintance ;  at  which  outbursts  Mrs.  Dennison  would 
smile. 

Mrs.  Dennison,  coming  out  on  to  the  balcony  to 
see  if  her  carriage  were  in  sight  down  the  street, 
found  her  friend  close  to  her  elbow.  Their  balconies 
adjoined,  and  friendship  had  led  to  a  little  gate  being 
substituted  for  the  usual  dwarf-wall  of  division.  Tom 
Loring  erected  the  gate  into  an  allegory  of  direful 
portent.  Mrs.  Cormack  passed  through  it,  and  laid 
an  affectionate  grasp  on  Maggie  Dennison's  arm. 

"  You're  starting  early,"  she  remarked. 

"  I'm  going  a  long  way — right  up  to  Hampstead. 
I've  promised  Harry  to  call  on  some  people  there." 

"Ah!     Who?" 


L>s  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Their  name's  Carlin.     He  knows  Mr.  Carlin  in 

business.     Mr.  Carlin's  a  friend  of  Mr.  Ruston's." 

"Oh,  of  Ruston's?  I  like  that  Ruston.  He  is 
interesting — inspiring." 

"  Is  he?"  said  Mrs.  Dennison,  buttoning  her  glove. 
"  You'd  better  marry  him,  Berthe." 

"Marry  him?  No,  indeed.  I  think  he  would 
beat  one." 

"  Is  that  being  inspiring  ?  I'm  glad  Harry's  not 
inspiring." 

"  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean.  He's  a  man 
who " 

Mrs.  Cormack  threw  up  her  arms  as  though  pray- 
ing for  the  inspired  word.  Mrs.  Dennison  did  not 
wait  for  it. 

"  There's  the  carriage.     Good-bye,  dear,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Dennison  started  with  a  smile  on  her  face. 
Berthe  was  so  funny  ;  she  was  like  a  page  out  of  a 
French  novel.  She  loved  anything  not  quite  respect- 
able, and  peopled  the  world  with  heroes  of  loose 
morals  and  overpowering  wills.  She  adored  a  domi- 
nating mind  and  lived  in  the  discovery  of  affinities. 
What  nonsense  it  all  was — so  very  remote  from  the 
satisfactory  humdrum  of  real  life.  One  kept  house, 
and  gave  dinners,  and  made  the  children  happy,  and 

was  fond  of  one's  husband,  and  life  passed  most 

Here  Mrs.  Dennison  suddenly  yawned,  and  fell  to 
hoping   that   the  Carlins  would   not  be  oppressively 


MRS.  DENNISON'S  ORDERS.  29 

dull.  She  had  been  bored  all  day  long  ;  the  children 
hud  been  fretful,  and  poor  Harry  was  hurt  and  in  low 
spirits  because  of  a  cruel  caricature  in  a  comic  paper, 
and  Tom  Loring  had  scolded  her  for  laughing  at  the 
caricature  (it  hit  Harry  off  so  exactly),  and  nobody 
had  come  to  see  her,  except  a  wretch  who  had  once 
been  her  kitchenmaid,  and  had  come  to  terrible  grief, 
and  wanted  to  be  taken  back,  and  of  course  couldn't 
be,  and  had  to  be  sent  away  in  tears  with  a  sovereign, 
and  the  tears  were  no  use  and  the  sovereign  not  much. 
The  Carlins  fortunately  proved  tolerably  interest- 
ing in  their  own  way.  Carlin  was  about  fifty-five — 
an  acute  man  of  business,  it  seemed,  and  possessed  by 
an  unwavering  confidence  in  the  abilities  of  Willie 
Ruston.  Mrs.  Carlin  was  ten  or  fifteen  years  younger 
than  her  husband — a  homely  little  woman,  with  a 
swarm  of  children.  Mrs.  Dennison  wondered  how 
they  all  fitted  into  the  small  house,  but  was  told  that 
it  was  larger  by  two  good  rooms  than  their  old  dwell- 
ing in  the  country  town,  whence  Willie  had  sum- 
moned them  to  take  a  hand  in  his  schemes.  "Willie 
had  not  insisted  on  the  coal  business  being  altogether 
abandoned — as  Mrs.  Carlin  said,  with  a  touch  of 
timidity,  it  was  well  to  have  something  to  fall  back 
upon — but  he  required  most  of  Carlin's  time  now,  and 
the  added  work  made  residence  in  London  a  necessity. 
In  spite  of  Mr.  Carlin's  air  of  hard-headedness,  and 
his  wife's  prudent  recognition  of  the  business  aspect 


30  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

of  life,  they  neither  of  them  seemed  to  have  a  will  of 
their  own.  Willie — as  they  both  called  him — was  the 
Providence,  and  the  mixture  of  reverence  and  famil- 
iarity presented  her  old  acquaintance  in  a  new  light 
to  Maggie  Denuison.  Even  the  children  prattled 
about  "  Willie,"  and  their  mother's  rebukes  made 
"  Mr.  Huston  "  no  more  than  a  strange  and  transitory 
effort.  Mrs.  Dennison  wondered  what  there  was  in 
the  man — consulting  her  own  recollections  of  him  in 
hope  of  enlightenment. 

"  He  takes  such  broad  views,"  said  Carlin,  and 
seemed  to  find  this  characteristic  the  sufficient  justifi- 
cation for  his  faith. 

"  I  used  to  know  him  very  well,  you  know,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Dennison,  anxious  to  reach  a  more 
friendly  footing,  and  realising  that  to  connect  herself 
with  Ruston  offered  the  best  chance  of  it.  "  I  daresay 
he's  spoken  of  me — of  Maggie  Sherwood?" 

They  thought  not,  though  Willie  had  been  in  Car- 
lin's  employ  at  the  time  when  he  and  Mrs.  Dennison 
parted.  She  was  even  able,  by  comparison  of  dates,  to 
identify  the  holiday  in  which  that  scene  had  occurred 
and  that  sentence  been  spoken  ;  but  he  had  never 
mentioned  her  name.  She  very  much  doubted 
whether  he  had  even  thought  of  her.  The  fool  and 
the  fool's  wife  had  both  been  dismissed  from  his  mind. 
She  frowned  impatiently.  Why  should  it  be  anything 
to  her  if  they  had  ? 


MRS.  DENNISON'S  ORDERS.  31 

There  was  a  commotion  among  the  children,  start- 
ing from  one  who  was  perched  on  the  window-sill. 
Huston  himself  was  walking  up  to  the  door,  dressed  in 
a  light  suit  and  a  straw  hat.  After  the  greetings, 
while  all  were  busy  getting  him  tea,  he  turned  to  Mrs. 
Dennison. 

"  This  is  very  kind  of  you,"  he  said  in  an  under- 
tone. 

"  My  husband  wished  me  to  come,"  she  replied. 

He  seemed  in  good  spirits.  He  laughed,  as  he 
answered, 

"  Well,  I  didn't  suppose  you  came  to  please  me." 

"  You  spoke  as  if  you  did,"  said  she,  still  trying  to 
resent  his  tone,  which  she  thought  a  better  guide  to 
the  truth  than  his  easy  disclaimer. 

"  Why,  you  never  did  anything  to  please  me  !  " 

"  Did  you  ever  ask  me  ?  "  she  retorted. 

He  glanced  at  her  for  a  moment,  as  he  began  to 
answer, 

"  Well,  now,  I  don't  believe  I  ever  did ;  but  I " 

Mrs.  Carlin  interposed  with  a  proffered  cup  of  tea, 
and  he  broke  off. 

"  Thanks,  Mrs.  Carlin.  I  say,  Carlin,  it's  going 
first-rate.  Your  husband's  help's  simply  invaluable, 
Mrs.  Dennison." 

"  Harrv  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  she  regretted  a 
moment  later,  for  there  was  a  passing  gleam  in  Rus- 
ton's  eye  before  he  answered  gravely, 


32  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

"  His  firm  carries  great  weight.  Well,  we're  all  in 
it  here,  sink  or  swim  ;  aren't  we,  Carlin  ?  " 

Carlin  nodded  emphatically,  and  his  wife  gave  an 
anxious  little  sigh. 

"And  what's  to  be  the  end  of  it?"  asked  Mrs. 
Dennison. 

"  Ten  per  cent,"  said  Carlin,  with  conviction.  He 
could  not  have  spoken  with  more  utter  satisfaction  of 
the  millennium. 

"The  end?"  echoed  Huston.  "Oh,  I  don't 
know." 

"  At  least  he  won't  say,"  said  Carlin  admiringly. 

Mrs.  Dennison  rose  to  go,  engaging  the  Carlins  to 
dine  with  her — an  invitation  accepted  with  some 
nervousness,  until  the  extension  of  it  to  Ruston  gave 
them  a  wing  to  come  under.  Ruston,  with  that  di- 
rectness of  his  that  shamed  mere  dexterity  and  super- 
seded tact,  bade  Carlin  stay  where  he  was,  and  him- 
self escorted  the  visitor  to  her  carriage.  Half-way 
down  the  garden  walk  she  looked  up  at  him  and  re- 
marked, 

"  I  expect  you're  the  end." 

His  eyes  had  been  wandering,  but  they  came  back 
sharply  to  hers. 

"  Then  don't  tell  anybody,"  said  he  lightly. 

She  did  not  know  whether  what  he  said  amounted 
to  a  confession  or  were  merely  a  jest.  The  next  mo- 
ment he  was  off  at  a  tangent. 


MRS.  DENNISON'S  ORDERS.  33 

"  I  like  your  friend  Miss  Ferrars.  She  says  a  lot  of 
sharp  tilings,  and  now  and  then  something  sensible." 

"  Now  and  then  !     Poor  Adela  !  " 

"  Well,  she  doesn't  often  try.  Besides,  she's  hand- 
some." 

"  Oh,  you've  found  time  to  notice  that?  " 

"  I  notice  that  first,"  said  Mr.  Euston. 

They  were  at  the  carriage-door. 

"  I'm  not  dressed  properly,  so  I  mustn't  drive  with 
yon,"  he  said. 

"  Supposing  that  was  the  only  reason,"  she  replied, 
smiling,  "would  it  stop  you?" 

"  Certainly." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  of  other  fools." 

"  I'll  take  you  as  far  as  Eegent's  Park.  The  other 
fools  are  on  the  other  side  of  that." 

"  I'll  chance  so  far,"  and,  waving  his  hand  vaguely 
towards  the  house,  he-  got  in.  It  did  not  seem  to 
occur  to  him  that  there  was  any  want  of  ceremony  in 
his  farewell  to  the  Carlins. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  you  think  most  of  us 
fools?" 

"  I've  been  learning  to  think  it  less  and  to  show  it 
less  still." 

"  You're  not  much  changed,  though." 

"  I've  had  some  of  my  corners  chipped  off  by  col- 
lision with  other  hard  substances." 


34  THE  GOD  IN   THE  CAR. 

"  Thank  you  for  that  '  other  ' !  "  cried  Mrs.  Denni- 
son,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  They  must  have  been  very 
hard  ones." 

"  I  didn't  say  that  they  weren't  a  little  bit  injured 
too." 

"  Poor  things  !  I  should  think  so." 

"  I  have  my  human  side." 

"  Generally  the  other  side,  isn't  it  ? "  she  asked 
with  a  merry  glance.  The  talk  had  suddenly  become 
very  pleasant.  He  laughed,  and  stopped  the  car- 
riage.    A  sigh  escaped  from  Mrs.  Dennison. 

"  Next  time,"  he  said,  "  we'll  talk  about  you,  or 
Miss  Ferrars,  or  that  little  Miss  Marjory  Valentine, 
not  about  me.  Good-bye,"  and  he  was  gone  before 
she  could  say  a  word  to  him. 

But  it  was  natural  that  she  should  think  a  little 
about  him.  She  had  not,  she  said  to  herself  with  a 
weary  smile,  too  many  interesting  things  to  think 
about,  and  she  began  to  find  him  decidedly  interest- 
ing ;  in  which  fact  again  she  found  a  certain  strange- 
ness and  some  material  for  reflection,  because  she 
recollected  very  well  that  as  a  girl  she  had  not  found 
him  very  attractive.  Perhaps  she  demanded  then 
more  colouring  of  romance  than  he  had  infused  into 
their  intercourse;  she  had  indeed  suspected  him  of 
suppressed  romance,  but  the  suppression  had  been 
very  thorough,  betraying  itself  only  doubtfully  here 
and  there,  as  in  his  judgment  of  her  accepted  suitor. 


MRS.  DENNISON'S  ORDERS.  35 

Moreover,  let  his  feelings  then  have  been  what  they 
might,  he  was  not,  she  felt  sure,  the  man  to  cherish  a 
fruitless  love  for  eight  or  nine  years,  or  to  suffer  any 
resurrection  of  expired  emotions  on  a  renewed  en- 
counter with  an  old  flame.  He  buried  his  dead  too 
deep  for  that ;  if  they  were  in  the  way,  she  could 
fancy  him  sometimes  shovelling  the  earth  over  them 
and  stamping  it  down  without  looking  too  curiously 
whether  life  were  actually  extinct  or  only  nickering 
towards  its  extinction ;  if  it  were  not  quite  gone  at 
the  beginning  of  the  gravedigger's  work,  it  would  be 
at  the  end,  and  the  result  was  the  same.  Nor  did  she 
suppose  that  ghosts  gibbered  or  clanked  in  the  or- 
derly trim  mansions  of  his  brain.  In  fact,  she  was 
to  him  a  more  or  less  pleasant  acquaintance,  sand- 
wiched in  his  mind  between  Adela  Ferrars  and  Mar- 
jory Valentine — with  something  attractive  about  her, 
though  she  might  lack  the  sparkle  of  the  one  and  had 
been  robbed  of  the  other's  youthful  freshness.  This 
was  the  conclusion  which  she  called  upon  herself  to 
draw  as  she  drove  back  from  Hampstead — the  plain 
and  sensible  conclusion.  Yet,  as  she  reached  Curzon 
Street,  there  was  a  smile  on  her  face ;  and  the  conclu- 
sion was  hardly  such  as  to  make  her  smile — unless  in- 
deed she  had  added  to  it  the  reflection  that  it  is  ill 
judging  of  things  till  they  are  finished.  Her  ac- 
quaintance with  Willie  Huston  was  not  ended  yet. 
"  Maggie,  Maggie  !  "   cried  her  husband  through 


36  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

the  open  door  of  his  study  as  she  passed  up-stairs. 
"  Great  news !  We're  to  go  ahead.  We  settled  it  at 
the  meeting  this  morning." 

Harry  Dennison  was  in  exuberant  spirits.  The 
great  company  was  on  the  verge  of  actual  existence. 
From  the  chrysalis  of  its  syndicate  stage  it  was  to 
issue  a  bright  butterfly. 

"  And  Euston  was  most  complimentary  to  our 
house.  He  said  he  could  never  have  carried  it 
through  without  us.     He's  in  high  feather." 

Mrs.  Dennison  listened  to  more  details,  thinking, 
as  her  husband  talked,  that  Ruston's  cheerful  mood 
was  fully  explained,  but  wondering  that  he  had  not 
himself  thought  it  worth  while  to  explain  to  her  the 
cause  of  it  a  little  more  fully.  With  that  achieve- 
ment fresh  in  his  hand,  he  had  been  content  to 
hold  his  peace.  Did  he  think  her  not  worth  tell- 
ing? 

With  a  cloud  on  her  brow  and  her  smile  eclipsed, 
she  passed  on  to  the  drawing-room.  The  window  was 
open  and  she  saw  Tom  Loring's  back  in  the  balcony. 
Then  she  heard  her  friend  Mrs.  Cormack's  rather 
shrill  voice. 

"Not  say  such  things?"  the  voice  cried,  and  Mis. 
Dennison  could  picture  the  whirl  of  expostulatory 
hands  that  accompanied  the  question.  "But  why 
not?" 

Tom's  voice  answered  in  the  careful  tones  of  a 


MRS.  DENNISON'S  ORDERS.  37 

Tii;in  who  is  trying  not  to  lose  his  temper,  or,  anyhow, 
to  conceal  the  loss. 

"  Well,  apart  from  anything  else,  suppose  Den- 
nison  heard  you?  It  wouldn't  be  over-pleasant  for 
him." 

Mrs.  Denuison  stood  still,  slowly  peeling  off  her 
gloves. 

"  Oh,  the  poor  man !  I  would  not  like  to  hurt 
him.  I  will  be  silent.  Oh,  he  does  his  very  best! 
But  you  can't  help  it." 

Mrs.  Dennison  stepped  a  yard  nearer  the  window. 

"  Help  what?  "  asked  Tom  in  the  deepest  exasper- 
ation, no  longer  to  be  hidden. 

"  Why,  what  must  happen  ?  It  must  be  that  the 
true  man " 

A  smile  flickered  over  Maggie  Dennison's  face. 
How  like  Berthe  !     But  whence  came  this  topic  ? 

**  Nonsense,  I  tell  you  ! "  cried  Tom  with  a  stamp 
of  his  foot. 

And  at  the  sound  Mrs.  Dennison  smiled  again, 
and  drew  yet  nearer  to  the  window. 

"  Oh,  it's  always  nonsense  what  I  say !  Well,  we 
shall  see,  Mr.  Loring,"  and  Mrs.  Cormack  tripped  in 
through  her  window,  and  wrote  in  her  diary — she 
kept  a  diary  full  of  reflections — that  Englishmen 
were  all  stupid.  She  had  written  that  before,  but 
the  deep  truth  bore  repetition. 

Tom  went  in  too,  and  found  himself  face  to  face 


38  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

with  Mrs.  Denuison.  Bright  spots  of  colour  glowed 
on  her  cheeks ;  had  she  answered  the  question  of  the 
origin  of  the  topic?  Tom  blushed  and  looked  fur- 
tively at  her. 

"  So  the  great  scheme  is  launched,"  she  remarked, 
"  and  Mr.  Kuston  triumphs  !  " 

Tom's  manner  betrayed  intense  relief,  but  he  was 
still  perturbed. 

"  We're  having  a  precious  lot  of  Ruston,"  he  ob- 
served, leaning  against  the  mantelpiece  and  putting 
his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"/  like  him,"  said  Maggie  Dennison. 

"  Those  are  the  orders,  are  they  ? "  asked  Tom 
with  a  rather  wry  smile. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  smiling  at  Tom's  smile.  It 
amused  her  when  he  put  her  manner  into  words. 

"  Then  we  all  like  him,"  said  Tom,  and,  feeling 
quite  secure  now,  he  added,  "  Mrs.  Cormack  said  we 
should,  which  is  rather  against  him." 

"  Oh,  Berthe's  a  silly  woman.  Xever  mind  her. 
Harry  likes  him  too." 

"  Lucky  for  Ruston  he  does.  Your  husband's  a 
useful  friend.  I  fancy  most  of  Huston's  friends  are 
of  the  useful  variety." 

"  And  why  shouldn't  we  be  useful  to  him  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  seems  our  destiny,"  grumbled 
Tom,  whose  destiny  appeared  not  to  please  him. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

TWO    YOUNG    GENTLEMEN. 

Lady  Valentine  was  the  widow  of  a  baronet  of 
good  family  and  respectable  means;  the  one  was  to 
be  continued  and  the  other  absorbed  by  her  son, 
young  Sir  Walter,  now  an  Oxford  undergraduate  and 
just  turned,  twenky-one  years  of  age.  Lady  Valentine 
had  a  jointure,  and  Marjory  a  pretty  face.  The  re- 
maining family  assets  were  a  country-house  of  moder- 
ate dimensions  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Maidenhead, 
and  a  small  flat  in  Cromwell  Eoad.  Lady  Valentine 
deplored  the  rise  of  the  plutocracy,  and  had  some- 
times secretly  hoped  that  a  plutocrat  would  marry  her 
daughter.  In  other  respects  she  was  an  honest  and. 
unaffected  woman. 

Young  Sir  Walter,  however,  had  his  own  views  for 
his  sister,  and  young  Sir  Walter,  when  he  surveyed, 
the  position  which  the  laws  and  customs  of  the  realm 
gave  him,  was  naturally  led  to  suppose  that  his  opin- 
ion had  some  importance.  He  was  hardly  responsible 
for  the  error,  and  very  probably  Mr.  Ruston  would 

(39) 


40  THE  GOD  IN  thp:  car. 

have  been  better  advised  had  his  bearing  towards  the 
young  man  not  indicated  so  very  plainly  that  the  error 
was  an  error.  But  in  the  course  of  the  visits  to  Crom- 
well Road,  which  Huston  found  time  to  pay  in  the 
intervals  of  floating  the  Omofaga  Company — and  he 
was  a  man  who  found  time  for  many  things — this 
impression  of  his  made  itself  tolerably  evident,  and, 
consequently,  Sir  Walter  entertained  grave  doubts 
whether  Ruston  were  a  gentleman.  And,  if  a  fellow 
is  not  a  gentleman,  what,  he  asked,  do  brains  and  all 
the  rest  of  it  go  for?  Moreover,  how  did  the  chap 
live?  To  which  queries  Marjory  answered  that  "  Ox- 
ford boys"  were  very  silly — a  remark  which  embit- 
tered, without  in  the  least  elucidating,  the  question. 

Almost  everybody  has  one  disciple  who  looks  up 
to  him  as  master  and  mentor,  and,  ill  as  he  was  suited 
to  such  a  post,  Evan  Haselden  filled  it  for  "Walter 
Valentine.  Evan  had  been  in  his  fourth  year  when 
Walter  was  a  freshman,  and  the  reverence  engendered 
m  those  days  had  been  intensified  when  Evan  had 
become,  first,  secretary  to  a  minister  and  then,  as  he 
showed  diligence  and  aptitude,  a  member  of  Parlia- 
ment. Evan  was  a  strong  Tory,  but  payment  of 
members  had  an  unholy  attraction  for  him;  this  indi- 
cation of  his  circumstances  may  suffice.  Men  thought 
him  a  promising  youth,  women  called  him  a  nice  boy, 
and  young  Sir  Walter  held  him  for  a  statesman  and  a 
man  of  the  world. 


TWO  YOUNG   GENTLEMEN.  41 

Seeing  that  what  Sir  Walter  wanted  was  an  unfa- 
vourable opinion  of  Ruston,  he  could  not  have  done 
better  than  consult  his  respected  friend.  Juggernaut 
— Adela  Ferrara  was  pleased  with  the  nickname,  and 
it  began  to  be  repeated — had  been  crushing  Evan 
in  one  or  two  little  ways  lately,  and  he  did  it  with  an 
unconsciousness  that  increased  the  brutality.  Besides 
displacing  him  from  the  position  he  wished  to  occupy 
at  more  than  one  social  gathering,  Ruston,  being  in 
the  Lobby  of  the  House  one  day  (perhaps  on  Omofaga 
business),  had  likened  the  pretty  (it  was  his  epithet) 
young  member,  as  he  sped  with  a  glass  of  water  to  his 
party  leader,  to  Ganymede  in  a  frock-coat — a  descrip- 
tion, Evan  felt,  injurious  to  a  serious  politician. 

"A  gentleman?"  he  said,  in  reply  to  young  Sir 
Walter's  inquiry.  "  Well,  everybody's  a  gentleman 
now,  so  I  suppose  Ruston  is." 

"  I  call  him  an  unmannerly  brute,"  observed  Wal- 
ter, "  and  I  can't  think  why  mother  and  Marjory  are 
so  civil  to  him." 

Evan  shook  his  head  mournfully. 

"  You  meet  the  fellow  everywhere,"  he  sighed. 

"  Such  an  ugly  mug  as  he's  got  too,"  pursued 
young  Sir  AY  alter.  "  But  Marjory  says  it's  full  of 
character." 

"  Character  !  I  should  think  so.  Enough  to  hang 
him  on  sight,"  said  Evan  bitterly. 

"  He's  been  a  lot  to  our  place.     Marjory  seems  to 


42  THE   GOD   IN  THE   CAR. 

like  him.  I  say,  Haselden,  do  you  remember  what 
you  spoke  of  after  dinner  at  the  Savoy  the  other 
day  ?  " 

Evan  nodded,  looking  rather  embarrassed  ;  indeed 
he  blushed,  and  little  as  he  liked  doing  that,  it  became 
him  very  well. 

"Did  you  mean  it?  Because,  you  know,  I  should 
like  it  awfully." 

"  Thanks,  Val,  old  man.     Oh,  rather,  I  meant  it." 

Young  Sir  Walter  lowered  his  voice  and  looked 
cautiously  round — they  were  in  the  club  smoking- 
room. 

"  Because  I  thought,  you  know,  that  you  were 
rather — you  know — Adela  Ferrars  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  that,  only  j)ovr  passer  le  temps" 
Evan  assured  him  with  that  superb  man-of-the-world- 
liness. 

It  was  a  pity  that  Adela  could  not  hear  him.  But 
there  was  more  to  follow. 

"  The  truth  is,"  resumed  Evan — and,  of  course,  I 
rely  on  your  discretion,  Val — I  thought  there  might 
be  a — an  obstacle." 

Young  Sir  Walter  looked  knowing. 

"  When  you  were  good  enough  to  suggest  what  you 
did — about  your  sister — I  doubted  for  a  moment  how 
such  a  thing  would  be  received  by — well,  at  a  certain 
house." 

"  Oh  ! " 


TWO  YOUNG  GENTLEMEN.  43 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  could  guess." 

«  N— no,  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Well,  it  doesn't  matter  where." 

"  Oh,  but  I  say,  you  might  as  well  tell  me.  Hang 
it,  I've  learnt  to  hold  my  tongue." 

"You  hadn't  noticed  it?  That's  all  right.  I'm 
glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Evan,  whose  satisfaction  was  not 
conspicuous  in  his  tone. 

"  I'm  so  little  in  town,  you  see,"  said  Walter  tact- 
fully. 

"  Well — for  heaven's  sake,  don't  let  it  go  any  far- 
ther— Curzon  Street." 

"What!     Of  course!  Mrs. " 

"All  right,  yes.  But  I've  made  up  my  mind.  I 
shall  drop  all  that.     Best,  isn't  it?" 

Walter  nodded  a  sagacious  assent. 

"  There  was  never  anything  in  it,  really,"  said 
Evan,  and  he  was  not  displeased  with  his  friend's  in- 
credulous expression.  It  is  a  great  luxury  to  speak 
the  truth  and  yet  not  be  believed. 

"  Now,  what  you  propose,"  continued  Evan,  "  is 
most — but,  I  say,  Val,  what  does  she  think  ?  " 

"  She  likes  you — and  you'll  have  all  my  influence," 
said  the  Head  of  the  Family  in  a  tone  of  importance. 

"  But  how  do  you  know  she  likes  me  ?  "  insisted 
Evan,  whose  off-hand  air  gave  place  to  a  manner  be- 
traying some  trepidation. 

"  I  don't  know  for  certain,  of  course.     And,  I  say, 


44  THE   GOD   IN  THE   CAR. 

Haselden,  I  believe  mother's  got  an  idea  in  her  head 
about  that  fellow  Ruston." 

"  The  devil  !  That  brute  !  Oh,  hang  it,  Val,  she 
can't — your  sister,  I  mean — I  tell  you  what,  I  shan't 
play  the  fool  any  longer." 

Sir  Walter  cordially  approved  of  increased  activity, 
and  the  two  young  gentlemen,  having  settled  one 
lady's  future  and  disposed  of  the  claims  of  two  others 
to  their  complete  satisfaction,  betook  themselves  to 
recreation. 

Evan  was  not,  however,  of  opinion  that  anything 
in  the  conversation  above  recorded,  imposed  upon  him 
the  obligation  of  avoiding  entirely  Mrs.  Dennison's 
society.  On  the  contrary,  he  took  an  early  opportu- 
nity of  going  to  see  her.  His  attitude  towards  her 
was  one  of  considerably  greater  deference  than  Sir 
Walter  understood  it  to  be,  and  he  had  a  high  idea  of 
the  value  of  her  assistance.  And  he  did  not  propose 
to  deny  himself  such  savour  of  sentiment  as  the  lady 
would  allow;  and  she  generally  allowed  a  little.  He 
intended  to  say  nothing  about  Ruston,  but  as  it  hap- 
pened that  Mrs.  Dennison's  wishes  set  in  an  opposing 
direction,  he  had  not  been  long  in  the  drawing  room 
at  Curzon  Street  before  he  found  himself  again  with 
the  name  of  his  enemy  on  his  lips.  He  spoke  with  re- 
freshing frankness  and  an  engaging  confidence  in  his 
hostess'  sympathy.  Mrs.  Dennison  had  no  difficulty  in 
seeing  that  he  had  a  special  reason  for  his  bitterness. 


TWO  YOUNG  GENTLEMEN.  45 

"  Is  it  only  because  he  called  you  Ganymede  ?  And 
it's  a  very  good  name  for  you,  Mr.  Haselden." 

To  be  compared  to  Ganymede  in  private  by  a  lady 
and  in  public  by  a  scoffer,  are  things  very  different. 
Evan  smiled  complacently. 

"  There's  more  than  that,  isn't  there?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Dennison. 

Evan  admitted  that  there  was  more,  and,  in  obedi- 
ence to  some  skilful  guidance,  he  revealed  what  there 
was  more — what  beyond  mere  offended  dignity — be- 
tween himself  and  Mr.  Euston.  He  had  to  complain 
of  no  lack  of  interest  on  the  part  of  his  listener.  Mrs. 
Dennison  questioned  him  closely  as  to  his  grounds  for 
anticipating  Ruston's  rivalry.  The  idea  was  evidently 
quite  new  to  her ;  and  Evan  was  glad  to  detect  her  re- 
luctance to  accept  it — she  must  think  as  he  did  about 
Willie  Euston.  The  tangible  evidence  appeared  on 
examination  reassuringly  small,  and  Evan,  by  a  strange 
conversion,  found  himself  driven  to  defend  his  appre- 
hensions by  insisting  on  just  that  power  of  attraction 
in  his  foe  which  he  had  begun  by  denying  altogether. 
But  that,  Mrs.  Dennison  objected,  only  showed,  even 
if  it  existed,  that  Marjory  might  like  Euston,  not  that 
Euston  would  return  her  liking.  On  the  whole  Mrs. 
Dennison  comforted  him,  and,  dismissing  Euston 
from  the  discussion,  said  with  a  smile, 

"  So  you're  thinking  of  settling  down  already,  are 
you  ?  " 


4G  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  I  say,  Mrs.  Denuison,  you've  always  been  awfully 
good  to  me ;  I  wonder  if  you'd  help  me  in  this  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  help  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  lots  of  ways.  Well,  for  instance,  old  Lady 
Valentine  doesn't  ask  me  there  often.  You  see,  I 
haven't  got  any  money." 

"Poor  boy !  Of  course  you  haven't.  Nice  young 
men  never  have  any  money." 

"  So  I  don't  get  many  chances  of  seeing  her." 

"  And  I  might  arrange  meetings  for  you  ?  That's 
how  I  could  help  ?     Now,  why  should  I  help  ?  " 

Evan  was  encouraged  by  this  last  question,  put  in 
his  friend's  doubtfully-serious  doubtfully-playful  man- 
ner. 

"  It  needn't,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  rather  more  timid 
than  young  Sir  Walter  would  have  expected,  "  make 
any  difference  to  our  friendship,  need  it?  If  it  meant 
that " 

The  sentence  was  left  in  expressive  incompleteness. 

Mrs.  Dennison  wanted  to  laugh ;  but  why  should 
she  hurt  his  feelings?  lie  was  a  pleasant  boy,  and,  in 
spite  of  his  vanity,  really  a  clever  one.  He  had  been 
a  little  spoilt ;  that  was  all.  She  turned  her  laugh  in 
another  direction. 

"  Berthe  Cormack  would  tell  you  that  it  would  be 
sure  to  intensify  it,"  she  said.  "  Seriously,  I  shan't 
hate  you  for  marrying,  and  I  don't  suppose  Marjory 
will  hate  me." 


TWO  YOUNG   GENTLEMEN.  47 

"  Then  "  (Mrs.  Dennison  had  to  smile  at  that  little 
word),  "  you'll  help  me?" 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison,  allowing  her  smile 
to  become  manifest. 

"  You  won't  be  against  me  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Evan,  pressing  her  hand. 

He  had  enjoyed  himself  very  much,  and  Mrs.  Den- 
nison was  glad  that  she  had  been  good-natured,  and 
had  not  laughed. 

"  Good-bye,  and  I  hope  you'll  be  very  happy,  if  you 
succeed.     And — Evan — don't  kill  Mr.  Euston  !  " 

The  laugh  came  at  last,  but  he  was  out  of  the  door 
in  time,  and  Mrs.  Dennison  had  no  leisure  to  enjoy  it 
fully,  for,  the  moment  her  visitor  was  gone,  Mr.  Bel- 
ford  and  Lord  Semingham  were  announced.  They 
came  together,  seeking  Harry  Dennison.  There  was 
a  "  little  hitch  "  of  some  sort  in  the  affairs  of  the 
Omofaga  Company — nothing  of  consequence,  said  Mr. 
Belford  reassuringly.  Mrs.  Dennison  explained  that 
Harry  Dennison  had  gone  off  to  call  on  Mr.  Euston. 

"  Oh,  then  he  knows  by  now,"  said  Semingham  in 
a  tone  of  relief. 

"And  it'll  be  all  right,"  added  Belford  con- 
tentedly. 

"  Mr.  Belford,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison,  "  I'm  living  in 
an  atmosphere  of  Omofaga.  I  eat  it,  and  drink  it,  and 
wear  it,  and  breathe  it.    And,  what  in  the  end,  is  it  ?  " 


48  THE   GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

"  Ask  Euston,"  interposed  Semingham. 

"  I  did  ;  but  I  don't  think  he  told  me." 

"  But  surely,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dennison,  your  hus- 
band takes  you  into  his  confidence?"  suggested  Mr. 
Belford. 

Mrs.  Dennison  smiled,  as  she  replied, 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  what  you're  doing.  But  I  want 
to  know  why  you're  doing  it.  I  don't  believe  you'll 
ever  get  anything  out  of  it,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  directors  always  get  something,"  protested 
Semingham.  "  Penal  servitude  sometimes,  but  always 
something." 

"I've  never  had  such  implicit  faith  in  any  under- 
taking in  my  life,"  asserted  Mr.  Belford.  "  And  I 
know  that  your  husband  shares  my  views.  It's  bound 
to  be  the  greatest  success  of  the  day.  Ah,  here's 
Dennison ! " 

Harry  came  in  wiping  his  brow.  Belford  rushed 
to  him,  and  drew  him  to  the  window,  button-holing 
him  with  decision.  Lord  Semingham  smiled  lazily 
and  pulled  his  whisker. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  hear  the  news?  "  Mrs.  Denni- 
son asked. 

"No!     He's  been  to  Huston." 

Mrs.  Dennison  looked  at  him  for  an  instant  with 
something  rather  like  scorn  in  her  eye.  Lord  Sem- 
ingham laughed. 

"  I'm  not  quite  as  bad  as  that,  really,"  he  said. 


TWO  YOUNG  GENTLEMEN.  49 

"  And  the  others?  "  she  asked,  leaning  forward  and 
taking  care  that  her  voice  did  not  reach  the  other  pair. 

"  He  turns  Belford  round  his  fingers." 

"And  Mr.  Carlin?" 

"  In  his  pocket." 

Mrs.  Dennison  cast  a  glance  towards  the  window. 

"  Don't  go  on,"  implored  Semingham,  half-seri- 
ously. 

"  And  my  husband  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  still  lower 
voice. 

Lord  Semingham- protested  with  a  gesture  against 
such  cross-examination. 

"  Surely  it's  a  good  thing  for  me  to  know  ? "  she 
said. 

"  Well — a  great  influence." 

"  Thank  you." 

There  was  a  pause  for  an  instant.  Then  she  rose 
with  a  laugh  and  rang  the  bell  for  tea. 

"  I  hope  he  won't  ruin  us  all,"  she  said. 

"  I've  got  Bessie's  settlement,"  observed  Lord 
Semingham ;  and  he  added  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"  What's  the  matter  ?  I  thought  you  were  a  thorough- 
going believer." 

"  I'm  a  woman,"  she  answered.  "  If  I  were  a 
man " 

"  You'd  be  the  prophet,  not  the  disciple,  eh  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him,  and  then  across  to  the  couple 
by  the  window. 


50  THE   GOD  IN    THE  CAR. 

"  To  do  Bclford  justice,"  remarked  Semingham, 
reading  her  glance,  "  he  never  admits  that  he  isn't  a 
great  man — though  surely  he  must  know  it." 

"  Is  it  better  to  know  it,  or  not  to  know  it  ?  "  she 
asked,  restlessly  fingering  the  teapot  and  cups  which 
had  been  placed  before  her.  "  I  sometimes  think  that 
if  you  resolutely  refuse  to  know  it,  you  can  alter  it." 

Belford's  name  had  been  the  only  name  mentioned 
in  the  conversation ;  yet  Semingham  knew  that  she 
was  not  thinking  of  Belford  nor  of  him. 

"  I  knew  it  about  myself  very  soon,"  he  said.  "  It 
makes  a  man  better  to  know  it,  Mrs.  Dennison." 

"  Oh,  yes — better,"  she  answered  impatiently. 

The  two  men  came  and  joined  them.  Belford 
accepted  a  cup  of  tea,  and,  as  he  took  it,  he  said  to 
Harry,  continuing  their  conversation, 

"  Of  course,  I  know  his  value ;  but,  after  all,  we 
must  judge  for  ourselves." 

';  Of  course,"  acquiesced  Harry,  handing  him 
bread-and-butter. 

"  We  are  the  masters,"  pursued  Belford. 

Mrs.  Dennison  glanced  at  him,  and  a  smile  so  full 
of  meaning — of  meaning  which  it  was  as  well  Mr. 
Belford  should  not  see — appeared  on  her  face,  that 
Lord  Semingham  deftly  interposed  his  person  be- 
tween them,  and  said,  with  apparent  seriousness, 

"  Oh,  he  mustn't  think  he  can  do  just  what  he 
likes  with  us." 


TWO  YOUNG  GENTLEMEN.  51 

"  I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion,"  said  Belford,  with 
a  weighty  nod. 

After  tea,  Lord  Semingham  walked  slowly  back  to 
his  own  house.  He  had  a  trick  of  stopping  still,  when 
he  fell  into  thought,  and  he  was  motionless  on  the 
pavement  of  Piccadilly  more  than^once  on  his  way 
home.  The  last  time  he  paused  for  nearly  three  min- 
utes, till  an  acquaintance,  passing  by,  clapped  him  on 
the  back,  and  inquired  what  occupied  his  mind. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Semingham,  laying  his 
forefinger  on  his  friend's  arm,  "  that  if  you  take  what 
a  clever  man  really  is,  and  add  to  it  what  a  clever 
woman  who  is  interested  in  him  thinks  he  is,  you  get 
a  most  astonishing  person." 

The  friend  stared.  The  speculation  seemed  hardly 
pressing  enough  to  excuse  a  man  for  blocking  the 
pavement  of  Piccadilly. 

"If,  on  the  other  hand,"  pursued  Semingham, 
"  you  take  what  an  ordinary  man  isn't,  and  add  all 
that  a  clever  woman  thinks  he  isn't,  you  get " 

"  Hadn't  we  better  go  on,  old  fellow  ?  "  asked  the 
friend. 

"  No,  I  think  we'd  better  not,"  said  Semingham, 
starting  to  walk  again. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   TELEGRAM   TO    FRANKFORT. 

The  success  of  Lady  Valentine's  Saturday  to 
Monday  party  at  Maidenhead  was  spoilt  by  the  un- 
scrupulous, or  (if  the  charitable  view  be  possible)  the 
muddle-headed  conduct  of  certain  eminent  African 
chiefs — so  small  is  the  world,  so  strong  the  chain  of 
gold  (or  shares)  that  binds  it  together.  The  party 
was  marred  by  Willie  Huston's  absence ;  and  he  was 
away  because  he  had  to  go  to  Frankfort,  and  he  had 
to  go  to  Frankfort  because  of  that  little  hitch  in  the 
affairs  of  the  Omofaga.  The  hitch  was,  in  truth,  a 
somewhat  grave  one,  and  it  occurred,  most  annoying- 
ly,  immediately  after  a  gathering,  marked  by  uncom- 
mon enthusiasm  and  composed  of  highly  influential 
persons,  had  set  the  impress  of  approval  on  the 
scheme.  On  the  following  morning,  it  was  asserted 
that  the  said  African  chiefs,  from  whom  Ruston  and 
his  friends  derived  their  title  to  Omofaga,  had  acted 
in  a  manner  that  belied  the  character  for  honesty  and 
simplicity  in  commercial  matters  (existing  side  by  side 

(P2) 


A  TELEGRAM  TO  FRANKFORT.  53 

with  intense  savagery  and  cruelty  in  social  and  polit- 
ical life)  that  Mr.  Foster  Belford  had  attributed  to 
them  at  the  great  meeting.  They  had,  it  was  said, 
sold  Omofaga  several  times  over  in  small  parcels,  and 
twice,  at  least,  en  bloc — once  to  the  Syndicate  (from 
whom  the  Company  was  acquiring  it)  and  once  to  an 
association  of  German  capitalists.  The  writer  of  the 
article,  who  said  that  he  knew  the  chiefs  well,  went  so 
far  as  to  maintain  that  any  person  provided  with  a 
few  guns  and  a  dozen  or  so  bottles  of  ardent  spirits 
could  return  from  Omofaga  with  a  portmanteau  full 
of  treaties,  and  this  facility  in  obtaining  the  article 
could  not,  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  supply  and 
demand,  do  other  than  gravely  affect  the  value  of  it. 
Willie  Ruston  was  inclined  to  make  light  of  this  disclos- 
ure ;  indeed,  he  attributed  it  to  a  desire — natural  but 
unprincipled — on  the  part  of  certain  persons  to  obtain 
Omofaga  shares  at  less  than  their  high  intrinsic  value ; 
he  called  it  a  "  bear  dodge  "  and  sundry  other  oppro- 
brious names,  and  snapped  his  fingers  at  all  possible 
treaties  in  the  wrorld  except  his  own.  Once  let  him 
set  his  foot  in  Omofaga,  and  short  would  be  the  shrift 
of  rival  claims,  supposing  them  to  exist  at  all!  But 
the  great  house  of  Dennison,  Sons  &  Company,  could 
not  go  on  in  this  happy-go-lucky  fashion — so  the 
senior  partner  emphatically  told  Harry  Dennison — 
they  were  already,  in  his  opinion,  deep  enough  in  this 
affair ;  if  they  were  to  go  any  deeper,  this  matter  of 


54  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

the  association  of  German  capitalists  must  be  inquired 
into.  The  house  had  not  only  its  money,  but  its 
credit  and  reputation  to  look  after ;  it  could  not  touch 
any  doubtful  business,  nor  could  it  be  left  with  a 
block  of  Omofagas  on  its  hands.  In  effect  they  were 
trusting  too  much  to  this  Mr.  Ruston,  for  he,  and  he 
alone,  was  their  security  in  the  matter.  Not  another 
step  would  the  house  move  till  the  German  capitalists 
were  dissolved  into  thin  air.  So  Willie  Huston  packed 
his  portmanteau — likely  enough  the  very  one  that  had 
carried  the  treaties  away  from  Omofaga — and  went  to 
Frankfort  to  track  the  German  capitalists  to  their 
lair.  Meanwhile,  the  issue  of  the  Omofaga  was  post- 
poned, and  Mr.  Carlin  was  set  a-telegraphing  to 
Africa. 

Thus  it  also  happened  that,  contrary  to  her  fixed 
intention,  Lady  Valentine  was  left  with  a  bedroom  to 
spare,  and  with  no  just  or  producible  reason  whatever 
for  refusing  her  son's  request  that  Evan  Haselden 
might  occupy  it.  This,  perhaps,  should,  in  the  view 
of  all  true  lovers,  be  regarded  as  an  item  on  the  credit 
side  of  the  African  chiefs'  account,  though  in  the 
hostess'  eyes  it  aggravated  their  offence.  Adela 
Ferrars,  Mr.  Foster  Belford  and  Tom  Loring,  who 
positively  blessed  the  African  chiefs,  were  the  remain- 
ing guests. 

All  parties  cannot  be  successful,  and,  if  truth  be 
told,  this  of   Lady  Valentine's  was   no  conspicuous 


A  TELEGRAM  TO   FRANKFURT.  55 

triumph.  Belford  and  Loring  quarrelled  about  Omo- 
faga,  for  Loring  feared  (he  used  that  word)  that  there 
might  be  a  good  deal  in  the  German  treaties,  and 
Belford  was  loud-mouthed  in  declaring  there  could 
be  nothing.  Marjory  and  her  brother  had  a  "  row  " 
because  Marjory,  on  the  Saturday  afternoon,  would 
not  go  out  in  the  Canadian  canoe  with  Evan,  but  in- 
sisted on  taking  a  walk  with  Mr.  Belford  and  hearing 
all  about  Omofaga.  Finally,  Adela  and  Tom  Loring 
had  a  rather  serious  dissension  because — well,  just 
because  Tom  was  so  intolerably  stupid  and  narrow- 
minded  and  rude.  That  was  Adela's  own  account  of 
it,  given  in  her  own  words,  which  seems  pretty  good 
authority. 

The  unfortunate  discussion  began  with  an  expres- 
sion of  opinion  from  Tom.  They  were  lounging  very 
comfortably  down  stream  in  a  broad-bottomed  boat. 
It  was  a  fine  still  evening  and  a  lovely  sunset.  It 
was  then  most  wanton  of  Tom — even  although  he 
couched  his  remark  in  a  speciously  general  form — 
to  say, 

"  I  wonder  at  fellows  who  spend  their  life  worm- 
ing money  out  of  other  people  for  wild-cat  schemes 
instead  of  taking  to  some  honest  trade." 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Adela  fitted  her  glasses 
on  her  nose,  and  observed,  with  a  careful  imitation  of 
Tom's  forms  of  expression, 

"  I    wonder  at  fellows  who  drift  through  life  in 


56  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

subordinate  positions  without  the — the  spunk — to  try 
and  do  anything  for  themselves." 

"  Women  have  no  idea  of  honesty." 

"  Men  are  such  jealous  creatures." 

"  I'm  not  jealous  of  him,"  Tom  blurted  out. 

"  Of  who  ?  "  asked  Adela. 

She  was  keeping  the  cooler  of  the  pair. 

"  Confound  those  beastly  flies,"  said  Tom,  peevish- 
ly. There  was  a  fly  or  two  about,  but  Adela  smiled 
in  a  superior  way.  "I  suppose  I've  some  right  to 
express  an  opinion,"  continued  Tom.  "  You  know 
what  I  feel  about  the  Dennisons,  and — well,  it's  not 
only  the  Dennisons." 

"  Oh  !  the  Valentines  ?  " 

"  Blow  the  Valentines  !  "  said  Tom,  very  ungrate- 
fully, inasmuch  as  he  sat  in  their  boat  and  had  eaten 
their  bread. 

He  bent  over  his  sculls,  and  Adela  looked  at  him 
with  a  doubtful  little  smile.  She  thought  Tom  Lor- 
ing,  on  the  whole,  the  best  man  she  knew,  the  truest 
and  loyalest ;  but,  these  qualities  are  not  everything, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  he  meant  to  be  secretary  to  Harry 
Dennison  all  his  life.  Of  course  he  had  no  money, 
there  was  that  excuse ;  but  to  some  men  want  of 
money  is  a  reason,  not  for  doing  nothing,  but  for  at- 
tempting everything ;  it  had  struck  Willie  Kuston  in 
that  light.  Therefore  she  was  at  times  angry  with  Tom 
— and  all  the  more  angry  the  more  she  ad  mired  him. 


A   TELEGRAM   TO    FRANKFORT.  57 

"  You  do  me  the  honour  to  be  anxious  on  my  ac- 
count ?  "  she  asked  very  stiffly.    * 

"  He  asked  me  how  much  money  you  had  the  other 
day." 

"  Ob,  you're  insufferable  ;  you  really  are.  Do  you 
always  tell  women  that  men  care  only  for  their 
money  ?  " 

"  It's  not  a  bad  thing  to  tell  them  when  it's  true." 

"  I  call  this  the  very  vulgarest  dispute  I  was  ever 
entrapped  into." 

"  It's  not  my  fault.     It's Hullo  ! " 

His  attention  was  arrested  by  Lady  Valentine's 
footman,  who  stood  on  the  bank,  calling  "  Mr  Loring, 
sir,"  and  holding  up  a  telegram. 

"  Thank  goodness,  we're  interrupted,"  said  Adela. 
"  Row  ashore,  Mr.  Loring." 

Loring  obeyed,  and  took  his  despatch.  It  was 
from  Harry  Dennison,  and  he  read  it  aloud. 

"  Can  you  come  up  ?    News  from  Frankfort." 

"  I  must  go,"  said  Tom. 

"  Oh,  yes.  If  you're  not  there,  Mr.  Ruston  will  do 
something  dreadful,  won't  he?  I  should  like  to  come 
too.  News  from  Frankfort  would  be  more  interesting 
than  views  from  Mr.  Belford." 

They  parted  without  any  approach  towards  a 
reconciliation.     Tom    wTas    hopelessly    sulky,    Adela 


r 


58  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

persistently  flippant.  The  shadow  of  Omofaga  lay 
heavy  on  Lady  Valentine's  party,  and  still  shrouded 
Tom  Loring  on  his  way  to  town. 

The  important  despatch  from  Frankfort  had  come 
in  cipher,  and  when  Tom  arrived  in  Curzon  Street,  he 
found  Mr.  Carlin,  who  had  been  sent  for  to  read  it, 
just  leaving  the  house.  The  men  nodded  to  one 
another,  and  Carlin  hastily  exclaimed, 

"  You  must  reassure  Dennison  !  You  can  do  it ! " 
and  leapt  into  a  hansom. 

Tom  smiled.  If  the  progress  of  Omofaga  de- 
pended on  encouragement  from  him,  Omofaga  would 
remain  in  primitive  barbarism,  though  missionaries 
fell  thick  as  the  leaves  in  autumn. 

Harry  Dennison  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
library ;  his  hair  was  roughened  and  his  appearance 
indicative  of  much  unrest ;  his  wife  sat  in  an  arm- 
chair, looking  at  him  and  listening  to  Lord  Seming- 
ham,  who,  poising  a  cigarette  between  his  fingers,  was 
putting,  or  trying  to  put,  a  meaning  to  Ruston's 
message. 

"  Position  critical.  Must  act  at  once.  Will  you 
give  me  a  free  hand?  If  not,  wire  how  far  I 
may  go." 

That  was  how  it  ran  when  faithfully  interpreted 
by  Mr.  Carlin. 


A  TELEGRAM  TO   FRANKFORT.  5<) 

"  You  see,"  observed  Lord  Semiugham,  "  it's  clearly 
a  matter  of  money." 

Tom  nodded. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  he ;  "  it's  not  likely  to  be 
a  question  of  anything  else." 

"  Therefore  the  Germans  have  something  worth 
paying  for,"  continued  Semingham. 

"  Well,"  amended  Tom,  "  something  Ruston  thinks 
it  worth  his  while  to  pay  for,  anyhow." 

"  That  is  to  say  they  have  treaties  touching,  or 
purporting  to  touch,  Omofaga." 

"  And,"  added  Harry  Dennison,  who  did  not  lack 
a  certain  business  shrewdness,  "  probably  their  Gov- 
ernment behind  them  to  some  extent." 

Tom  flung  himself  into  a  chair. 

"  The  thing's  monstrous,"  he  pronounced.  "  Sem- 
ingham and  you,  Dennison,  are,  besides  himself — and 
he's  got  nothing — the  only  people  responsible  up  to 
now.  And  he  asks  you  to  give  him  an  unlimited 
credit  without  giving  you  a  word  of  information  ! 
It's  the  coolest  thing  I  ever  heard  of  in  all  my  life." 

"  Of  course  he  means  the  Company  to  pay  in  the 
end,"  Semingham  reminded  the  hostile  critic. 

"  Time  enough  to  talk  of  the  Company  when  we 
see  it,"  retorted  Tom,  with  an  aggressive  scepticism. 

"  Position  critical !  Hum.  I  suppose  their  treaties 
must  be  worth  something,"  pursued  Semingham. 
"  Dennison,  I  can't  be  drained  dry  over  this  job. 


n 


60  THE  GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

Harry  Dennison  shook  his  head  in  a  puzzled 
fashion. 

"  Carlin  says  it's  all  right,"  he  remarked. 

"  Of  course  he  does ! "  exclaimed  Tom  impatiently. 
"  Two  and  two  make  five  for  him  if  Ruston  says  they 
do." 

"  Well,  Tom,  what's  your  advice?"  asked  Seming- 
ham. 

"  You  must  tell  him  to  do  nothing  till  he's  seen 
you,  or  at  least  sent  you  full  details  of  the  position." 

The  two  men  nodded.  Mrs.  Dennison  rose  from 
her  chair,  walked  to  the  window,  and  stood  looking 
out. 

"  Loring  just  confirms  what  I  thought,"  said 
Semingham. 

"  He  says  he  must  act  at  once,"  Harry  reminded 
them ;  he  was  still  wavering,  and,  as  he  spoke,  he 
glanced  uneasily  at  his  wife ;  but  there  was  nothing 
to  show  that  she  even  heard  the  conversation. 

"  Oh,  he  hates  referring  to  anybody,"  said  Tom. 
"  He's  to  have  a  free  hand,  and  you're  to  pay  the  bill. 
That's  his  programme,  and  a  very  pretty  one  it  is — for 
him." 

Tom's  animus  was  apparent,  and  Lord  Semingham 
laughed  gently. 

"  Still,  you're  right  in  substance,"  he  conceded 
when  the  laugh  was  ended,  and  as  he  spoke  he  drew 
a  sheet  of  notepaper  towards  him  and  took  up  a  pen. 


A  TELEGRAM   TO   FRANKFORT.  01 

"  We'd  better  settle  just  what  to  say,"  he  observed. 
"  Carlin  will  be  back  in  half  an  hour,  and  we  promised 
to  have  it  ready  for  him.  What  you  suggest  seems  all 
right,  Loring." 

Tom  nodded.  Harry  Dennison  stood  stock  still 
for  an  instant  and  then  said,  with  a  sigh, 

"  I  suppose  so.  He'll  be  furious — and  I  hope  to 
God  we  shan't  lose  the  whole  thing." 

Lord  Semingham's  pen-point  was  in  actual  touch 
with  the  paper  before  him,  when  Mrs.  Dennison  sud- 
denly turned  round  and  faced  them.  She  rested  one 
hand  on  the  window-sash,  and  held  the  other  up  in  a 
gesture  which  demanded  attention. 

"  Are  you  really  going  to  back  out  now  ? "  she 
asked  in  a  very  quiet  voice,  but  with  an  intonation  of 
contempt  that  made  all  the  three  men  raise  their 
heads  with  the  jerk  of  startled  surprise.  Lord  Sem- 
ingham  checked  the  movement  of  his  pen,  and  leant 
back  in  his  chair,  looking  at  her.  Her  face  was  a 
little  flushed  and  she  was  breathing  quickly. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Harry  Dennison  very  apologetic- 
ally, "  do  you  think  you  quite  understand ?  " 

But  Tom  Loring's  patience  was  exhausted.  His 
interview  with  Adela  left  him  little  reserve  of  tolera- 
tion ;  and  the  discovery  of  another  and  even  worse 
case  of  Rustomania  utterly  overpowered  his  discretion. 

"  Mrs.  Dennison,"  he  said,  "  wants  us  to  deliver 
ourselves,  bound  hand  and  foot,  to  this  fellow." 


G2  THE  GOD   IN   THE  CAR, 

"  Well,  and  if  I  do?"  she  demanded,  turning  on 
him.  "  Can't  you  even  follow,  when  you've  found  a 
man  who  can  lead  ?  " 

And  then,  conscious  perhaps  of  having  heen 
goaded  to  an  excess  of  warmth  by  Tom's  open  scorn, 
she  turned  her  face  away. 

"  Lead,  yes !      Lead  us  to  ruin  !  "  exclaimed  Tom. 

"  You  won't  be  ruined,  anyhow,"  she  retorted 
quickly,  facing  round  on  him  again,  reckless  in  her 
anger  how  she  might  wound  him. 

"  Tom's  anxious  for  us,  Maggie,"  her  husband  re- 
minded her,  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  Tom  Loring's 
shoulder. 

Tom's  excitement  was  not  to  be  soothed. 

"  Why  are  we  all  to  be  his  instruments  ?  "  he  de- 
manded angrily. 

"  I  should  be  proud  to  be,"  she  said  haughtily. 

Her  husband  smiled  in  an  uneasy  effort  after  non- 
chalance, and  Lord  Semingham  shot  a  quick  glance 
at  her  out  of  his  observant  eyes. 

"  I  should  be  proud  of  a  friend  like  you  if  I  were 
Ruston,"  he  said  gently,  hoping  to  smooth  matters  a 
little. 

Mrs.  Dennison  ignored  his  attempt. 

"Can't  you  see?"  she  asked.  "Can't  you  see 
that  he's  a  man  to — to  do  things?  It's  enough  for  us 
if  we  can  help  him." 

She  had  forgotten  her  embarrassment ;  she  spoke 


A  TELEGRAM  TO   FRANKFORT.  G3 

half  in  contempt,  half  in  entreaty,  wholly  in  an  ear- 
nest urgency,  that  made  her  unconscious  of  any 
strangeness  in  her  zeal.  Harry  looked  uncomfortable. 
Semingham  with  a  sigh  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  from 
his  cigarette. 

Tom  Loring  sat  silent.  He  stretched  out  his  legs 
to  their  full  length,  rested  the  nape  of  his  neck  on  the 
chair-back,  and  stared  up  at  the  ceiling.  His  attitude 
eloquently  and  most  rudely  asserted  folly — almost 
lunacy — in  Mrs.  Dennison.  She  noticed  it  and  her 
eyes  flashed,  but  she  did  not  speak  to  him.  She 
looked  at  Semingham  and  surprised  an  expression  in 
his  eyes  that  made  her  drop  her  own  for  an  instant ; 
she  knew  very  well  what  he  was  thinking — Avhat  a 
man  like  him  would  think.  But  she  recovered  her- 
self and  met  his  glance  boldly. 

Harry  Dennison  sat  down  and  slowly  rubbed  his 
brow  with  his  handkerchief.  Lord  Semingham  took 
up  the  pen  and  balanced  it  between  his  fingers. 
There  was  silence  in  the  room  for  full  three  minutes. 
Then  came  a  loud  knock  at  the  hall  door. 

"  It's  Carlin,"  said  Harry  Dennison. 

No  one  else  spoke,  and  for  another  moment  there 
was  silence.  The  steps  of  the  butler  and  the  visitor 
were  already  audible  in  the  hall  when  Lord  Seming- 
ham, with  his  own  shrug  and  his  own  smile,  as  though 
nothing  in  the  world  were  worth  so  much  dispute  or 
so  much  bitterness,  said  to  Dennison, 


64  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Hang  it !  Shall  we  chance  it,  Harry  ?  " 
Mrs.  Dennison  made  one  swift  step  forward  to- 
wards him,  her  face  all  alight ;  but  she  stopped  be- 
fore she  reached  the  table  and  turned  to  her  hus- 
band. At  the  moment  Carlin  was  announced.  He 
entered  with  a  rush  of  eagerness.  Tom  Loring  did 
not  move.     Semingham  wrote  on  his  paper, — 

"Use  your  discretion,  but  make  every  effort  to 
keep  down  expenses.     Wire  progress." 

"Will  that  do?"  he  asked,  handing  the  paper  to 
Harry  Dennison  and  leaning  back  with  a  smile  on  his 
face ;  and,  though  he  handed  the  paper  to  Harry,  he 
looked  at  Mrs.  Dennison. 

Mrs.  Dennison  was  standing  by  her  husband  now, 
her  arm  through  his.  As  he  read  she  read  also. 
Then  she  took  the  paper  from  his  yielding  hand  and 
came  and  bent  over  the  table,  shoulder  to  shoul- 
der with  Lord  Semingham.  Taking  the  pen  from 
his  fingers,  she  dipped  it  in  the  ink,  and  with  a  firm 
dash  she  erased  all  save  the  first  three  words  of  the 
message.  This  done,  she  looked  round  into  Seming- 
ham's  face  with  a  smile  of  triumph. 

"  Well,  it'll  be  cheap  to  send,  anyhow,"  said  he. 

He  got  up  and  motioned  Carlin  to  take  his  place. 

Mrs.  Dennison  walked  back  to  the  window,  and  ho 
followed  her  there.     They  heard  Carlin's  cry  of  de- 


A   TELKORAM   TO   FRANKFORT.  65 

light,  and  Hurry  Dennison  beginning  to  make  ex- 
cuses and  trying  to  find  business  reasons  for  what  hud 
been  done.  Suddenly  Tom  Loring  leapt  to  his  feet 
and  strode  swiftly  out  of  the  room,  slamming  the  door 
behind  him.  Mrs.  Dennison  heard  the  sound  with  a 
smile  of  content.  She  seemed  to  have  no  misgivings 
and  no  regrets. 

"  Really,"  said  Lord  Semingham,  sticking  his  eye- 
glass in  his  eye  and  regarding  her  closely,"  you  ought 
to  be  the  Queen  of  Omofaga." 

With  her  slim  fingers  she  began  to  drum  gently 
on  the  window-pane. 

"  I  think  there's  a  king  already,"  she  said,  looking 
out  into  the  street. 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  king,"  he  answered  with  a  laugh. 

Mrs.  Dennison  looked  round.  He  did  not  stop 
laughing,  and  presently  she  laughed  just  a  little  herself. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  it's  always  that  in  a  woman,  isn't 
it  ?  "  she  asked  sarcastically. 

"  Generally,"  he  answered,  unashamed. 

She  grew  grave,  and  looked  in  his  face  almost — so 
it  seemed  to  him — as  though  she  sought  there  an 
answer  to  something  that  puzzled  her.  He  gave  her 
none.  She  sighed  and  drummed  on  the  window 
again  ;  then  she  turned  to  him  with  a  sudden  bright 
smile. 

"  I  don't  care ;  I'm  glad  I  did  it,"  she  said  de- 
fiantly. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHOSE    SHALL   IT    BE? 

Probably  no  one  is  always  wrong ;  at  any  rate, 
Mr.  Otto  Heather  was  right  now  and  then,  and  lie 
had  hit  the  mark  when  he  accused  Willie  Ruston  of 
"  commercialism."  But  he  went  astray  when  he  con- 
cluded, per  solium,  that  the  object  of  his  antipathy 
was  a  money-grubbing,  profit-snatching,  upper-hand- 
getting  machine,  and  nothing  else  in  the  world. 
Probably,  again,  no  one  ever  was.  Ruston  had  not 
only  feelings,  but  also  what  many  people  consider  a 
later  development — a  conscience.  And,  whatever  the 
springs  on  which  his  conscience  moved,  it  acted  as  a 
restraint  upon  him.  Both  his  feelings  and  his  con- 
science would  have  told  him  that  it  would  not  do  for 
him  to  delude  his  friends  or  the  public  with  a  scheme 
which  was  a  fraud.  He  would  have  delivered  this 
inner  verdict  in  calm  and  temperate  terms;  it  would 
have  been  accompanied  by  no  disgust,  no  remorse,  no 
revulsion  at  the  idea  having  made  its  way  into  his 
mind  ;  it  was  just  that,  on  the  whole,  such  a  thing 

(66) 


WHOSE  SHALL  IT  BE?  67 

wouldn't  do.  The  vagueness  of  the  phrase  faithfully 
embodied  the  spirit  of  the  decision,  for  whether  it 
wouldn't  do,  because  it  was  in  itself  unseemly,  or 
merely  because,  if  found  out,  it  would  look  unseemly, 
was  precisely  one  of  those  curious  points  with  which 
Mr.  Ruston's  practical  intellect  declined  to  trouble 
itself.  If  Omofaga  had  been  a  fraud,  then  Ruston 
would  have  whistled  it  down  the  wind.  But  Omofaga 
was  no  fraud — in  his  hands  at  least  no  fraud.  For, 
while  he  believed  in  Omofaga  to  a  certain  extent, 
Willie  Ruston  believed  in  himself  to  an  indefinite, 
perhaps  an  infinite,  extent.  He  thought  Omofaga  a 
fair  security  for  anyone's  money,  but  himself  a  superb 
one.  Omofaga  without  him — or  other  people's  Omo- 
fagas — might  be  a  promising  speculation  ;  add  him, 
and  Omafaga  became  a  certainty.  It  will  be  seen, 
then,  that  Mr.  Heather's  inspiration  had  soon  failed — 
unless,  that  is,  machines  can  see  visions  and  dream 
dreams,  and  melt  down  hard  facts  in  crucibles  heated 
to  seven  times  in  the  fires  of  imagination.  But  a 
man  may  do  all  this,  and  yet  not  be  the  passive  victim 
of  his  dreams  and  imaginings.  The  old  buccaneers — 
and  Adela  Ferrars  had  thought  Ruston  a  buccaneer 
modernised — dreamt,  but  they  sailed  and  fought  too ; 
and  they  sailed  and  fought  and  won  because  they 
dreamt.  And  if  many  of  their  dreams  were  tinted 
with  the  gleam  of  gold,  they  were  none  the  less 
powerful  and  alluring  for  that. 


68  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

Ruston  had  laid  the  whole  position  before  Baron 
von  Geltschmidt  of  Frankfort,  with — as  it  seemed — 
the  utmost  candour.  He  and  his  friends  were  not 
deeply  committed  in  the  matter ;  there  was,  as  yet, 
only  a  small  syndicate  ;  of  course  they  had  paid  some- 
thing for  their  rights,  but,  as  the  Baron  knew  (and 
"Willie's  tone  emphasised  the  fact  that  he  must  know) 
the  actual  sums  paid  out  of  pocket  in  these  cases 
were  not  of  staggering  magnitude  ;  no  company  was 
formed  yet ;  none  would  be,  unless  all  went  smoothly. 
If  the  Baron  and  his  friends  were  sure  of  their 
ground,  and  preferred  to  go  on — why,  he  and  his 
friends  were  not  eager  to  commit  themselves  to  a  long 
and  arduous  contest.  There  must,  he  supposed,  be  a 
give-and-take  between  them. 

"  It  looks,"  he  said,  "  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  as  if 
either  we  should  have  to  buy  you  out,  or  you  would 
have  to  buy  us  out." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  the  Baron,  blinking  lazily 
behind  his  gold  spectacles,  "  we  could  get  rid  of  you 
without  buying  you  out." 

"  Oh,  if  you  drove  us  to  it,  by  refusing  to  treat,  we 
should  have  a  shot  at  that  too,  of  course,"  laughed  Willie 
Kuston,  swallowing  a  glass  of  white  wine.  The  Baron 
had  asked  him  to  discuss  the  matter  over  luncheon. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  observed  the  Baron,  lighting  a 
cigar,  "  that  people  are  rather  cold  about  speculations 
just  now." 


WHOSE  SriALL  IT   BE?  G9 

"  I  should  think  so  ;  but  this  is  not  a  speculation  ; 
it's  a  certainty." 

"  Why  do  you  tell  me  that,  when  you  want  to  get 
rid  of  me  ?  " 

"  Because  you  won't  believe  it.  Wasn't  that  Bis- 
marck's way  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  Bismarck — and  a  certainty  is  what 
the  public  thinks  one." 

"  Is  that  philosophy  or  finance  ?  "  asked  Huston, 
laughing  again. 

The  Baron,  who  had  in  his  day  loved  both  the 
subjects  referred  to,  drank  a  glass  of  wine  and 
chuckled  as  he  delivered  himself  of  the  following  doc- 
trine : 

"  What  the  public  thinks  a  certainty,  is  a  certainty 
for  the  public — that  would  be  philosophy,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so.  I  never  read  much,  and  your  ex- 
tract doesn't  raise  my  idea  of  its  value." 

"  But  what  the  public  thinks  a  certainty,  is  a  cer- 
tainty— for  the  promotors — that  is  finance.  You  see 
the  difference  is  simple." 

"And  the  distinction  luminous.  This,  Baron, 
seems  to  be  the  age  of  finance." 

"  Ah,  well,  there  are  still  honest  men,"  said  the 
Baron,  with  the  optimism  of  age. 

"  Yes,  I'm  one — and  you're  another." 

"  I'm  much  obliged.  You've  been  in  Omo- 
f  aga  ?  " 


70  THE  GOD  IN   THE  CAR. 

"  Oh,  yes.     And  you  haven't,  Baron." 

"  Friends  of  mine  have." 

"  Yes.     They  came  just  after  I  left." 

The  Baron  knew  that  this  statement  was  true. 
As  his  study  of  Willie  Euston  progressed,  he  became 
inclined  to  think  that  it  might  be  important.  Mere 
right  (so  far  as  such  a  thing  could  be  given  by  prior 
treaties)  was  not  of  much  moment ;  but  right  and 
Huston  together  might  be  formidable.  Now  the 
Baron  (and  his  friends  were  friends  much  in  the  way, 
mutatis  mutandis,  that  Mr.  Wagg  and  Mr.  Wenham 
were  friends  of  the  Marquis  of  Steyne,  and  may  there- 
fore drop  out  of  consideration)  was  old  and  rich,  and, 
by  consequence,  at  a  great  disadvantage  with  a  man 
who  was  young  and  poor. 

"  I  don't  see  the  bearing  of  that,"  he  observed, 
having  paused  for  a  moment  to  consider  all  its  bear- 
ings. 

"  It  means  that  you  can't  have  Omofaga,"  said 
Willie  Ruston.     "  You  were  too  late,  you  see." 

The  Baron  smoked  and  drank  and  laughed. 

"  You're  a  young  fool,  my  boy — or  something  quite 
different,"  said  he,  laying  a  hand  on  his  companion's 
arm.  Then  he  asked  suddenly,  "  What  about  Den- 
nisons  V  " 

"  They're  behind  me  if " 

«  Well  ?  " 

"  If  you're  not  in  front  of  me." 


WHOSE  SHALL   IT   BE?  ?L 

"  But  if  I  am,  my  son  ?  "  asked  the  Baron,  almost 
caressingly. 

"  Then  I  leave  for  Omofaga  by  the  next  boat." 

"  Eh  !     And  for  what  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  what.  You'll  find  out  when  you 
come." 

The  Baron  sighed  and  tugged  his  beard. 

"  You  English  !  "  said  he.  "  Your  Government 
won't  help  you." 

"  Damn  my  Government." 

"  You  English  ! "  said  the  Baron  again,  his  tone 
struggling  between  admiration  and  a  sort  of  oppres- 
sion, while  his  face  wore  the  look  a  man  has  who  sees 
another  push  in  front  of  him  in  a  crowd,  and  wonders 
how  the  fellow  works  his  way  through. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Euston  lit  his  pipe,  and, 
crossing  his  arms  on  his  breast,  blinked  at  the  sun  ; 
the  Baron  puffed  away,  shooting  a  glance  now  and 
then  at  his  young  friend,  then  he  asked, 

"  Well,  my  boy,  what  do  you  offer  ?  " 

"  Shares,"  answered  Ruston  composedly. 

The  Baron  laughed.  The  impudence  of  the  offer 
pleased  him. 

"  Yes,  shares,  of  course.     And  besides  ?  " 

Willie  Ruston  turned  to  him. 

"  I  shan't  haggle,"  he  announced.  "  I'll  make  you 
one  offer,  Baron,  and  it's  an  uncommon  handsome 
offer  for  a  trunk  of  waste  paper." 


72  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

"  What's  the  offer?"  asked  the  Baron,  smiling 
with  rich  subdued  mirth. 

"  Fifty  thousand  down,  and  the  same  in  shares 
fully  paid." 

"  Not  enough,  my  son." 

"  All  right,"  and  Mr.  Huston  rose.  "  Much  obliged 
for  your  hospitality,  Baron,"  he  added,  holding  out 
his  hand. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  the  Baron. 

"  Omofaga — via  London." 

The  Baron  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  whispered 
in  his  ear, 

"  There's  not  so  much  in  it,  first  and  last." 

"  Oh,  isn't  there  ?  Then  why  don't  you  take  the 
offer  ?  " 

"  Is  it  your  money  ?  " 

"  It's  good  money.  Come,  Baron,  you've  always 
liked  the  safe  side,"  and  Willie  smiled  down  upon  his 
host. 

The  Baron  positively  started.  This  young  man 
stood  over  him  and  told  him  calmly,  face-to-face,  the 
secret  of  his  life.  It  was  true.  How  he  had  envied 
men  of  real  nerve,  of  faith,  of  daring !,  But  he  had 
always  liked  the  safe  side.  Ilence  he  was  very  rich — 
and  a  rather  weary  old  man. 

Two  days  later,  Willie  Ruston  took  a  cab  from 
Lord  Semingham's,  and  drove  to  Curzon  Street.  He 
arrived  at  twelve  o'clock  in  the  morning.    Harry  Den- 


WHOSE  SHALL  IT  BE!  73 

nison  had  gone  to  a  Committee  at  the  House.  The 
butler  had  just  told  him  so,  when  a  voice  cried  from 
within, 

"  Is  it  you,  Mr.  Ruston  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dennison  was  standing  in  the  hall.  lie  went 
in,  and  followed  her  into  the  library. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  asked,  standing  by  the  table,  and 
wasting  no  time  in  formal  greetings. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,"  said  he. 

"  You  got  my  telegram  ?  " 

"  Your  telegram,  Mrs.  Dennison  ?  "  said  he  with  a 
smile. 

"  I  mean — the  telegram,"  she  corrected  herself, 
smiling  in  her  turn. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Ruston,  and  he  took  a  step  towards 
her.     "  I've  seen  Lord  Semingham,"  he  added. 

"  Yes  ?  And  these  horrid  Germans  are  out  of  the 
way  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  Semingham  is  letting  his  shooting 
this  year." 

She  laughed,  and  glanced  at  him  as  she  asked, 

"  Then  it  cost  a  great  deal  ?  " 

"  Fifty  thousand  !  " 

"  Oh,  then  we  can't  take  Lord  Semingham's  shoot- 
ing, or  anybody  else's.     Poor  Harry  !  " 

"  He  doesn't  know  yet  ?  " 

"Aren't  you  almost  afraid  to  tell  him,  Mr.  Rus- 
ton?" 


74  THE  GOD  IN   THE  CAR. 

"  Aren't  you,  Mrs.  Dennison  ?  " 

lie  smiled  as  he  asked,  and  Mrs.  Dennison  lifted 
her  eyes  to  his,  and  let  them  dwell  there. 

"  Why  did  you  do  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Will  the  money  be  lost  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not ;  but  money's  always  uncertain." 

"  The  thing's  not  uncertain  ?  " 

"  No ;  the  thing's  certain  now." 

She  sat  down  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  and 
passed  her  hand  over  her  broad  brow. 

"  Why  did  you  do  it  ?  "  Ruston  repeated  ;  and  she 
laughed  nervously. 

"  I  hate  going  back,"  she  said,  twisting  her  hands 
in  her  lap. 

He  had  asked  her  the  question  which  she  had  been 
asking  herself  without  response. 

He  sat  down  opposite  her,  flinging  his  soft  cloth 
hat — for  he  had  not  been  home  since  his  arrival  in 
London — on  the  table. 

"  What  a  bad  hat !  "  said  Mrs.  Dennison,  touching 
it  with  the  end  of  a  forefinger. 

"  It's  done  a  journey  through  Omofaga." 

"  Ah  ! "  she  laughed  gently.     "  Dear  old  hat !  " 

"Thanks  to  you,  it'll  do  another  soon." 

Mrs.  Dennison  sat  up  straight  in  her  chair. 

"  You  hope ?  "  she  began. 

"  To  be  on  my  way  in  six  months,"  he  answered 
in  solid  satisfaction. 


WHOSE  SHALL  IT  BE?  75 

"  And  for  long  ?  " 

"  It  must  take  time." 

"What  must?" 

"  My  work  there." 

She  rose  and  walked  to  the  window,  as  she  had 
when  she  was  about  to  send  the  telegram.  Now  also 
she  was  breathing  quickly,  and  the  flush,  once  so  rare 
on  her  cheeks,  was  there  again. 

"  And  we,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  looking  out  of 
the  window,  "  shall  just  hear  of  you  once  a  year  ?  " 

"  We  shall  have  regular  mails  in  no  time,"  said  he. 
"  Once  a  year,  indeed  !  Once  a  month,  Mrs.  Denni- 
son  !  " 

With  a  curious  laugh,  she  dashed  the  blind-tassel 
asrainst  the  window.  It  was  not  for  the  sake  of  hear- 
ing  of  her  that  he  wanted  the  mails.  With  a  sudden 
impulse  she  crossed  the  room  and  stood  opposite  him. 

"Do  you  care  that"  she  asked,  snapping  her 
fingers,  "  for  any  soul  alive  ?  You're  delighted  to 
leave  us  all  and  go  to  Omofaga  ! " 

Willie  Ruston  seemed  not  to  hear ;  he  was  men- 
tally organizing  the  mail  service  from  Omofaga. 

"  I  beg  pardon  ? "  he  said,  after  a  perceptible 
pause. 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Maggie  Dennison,  and  at  last  her 
tone  caught  his  attention. 

He  looked  up  with  a  wrinkle  of  surprise  on  his 
brow. 


jq  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  you're  angry  about 
something.  You  look  just  as  you  did  on — on  the 
memorable  occasion." 

"  Oh,  we  aren't  all  Carlins  !  "  she  exclaimed,  car- 
ried away  by  her  feelings. 

The  least  she  had  expected  from  him  was  grateful 
thanks;  a  homage  tinged  with  admiration  was,  in 
truth,  no  more  than  her  due  ;  if  she  had  been  an  ugly 
dull  woman,  yet  she  had  done  him  a  great  service,  and 
she  was  not  an  ugly  dull  woman.  But  then  neither 
was  she  Omofaga. 

"  If  everybody  was  as  good  a  fellow  as  old  Car- 
lin "  began  Willie  Ruston. 

"  If  everybody  was  as  useful  and  docile,  you  mean ; 
as  good  a  tool  for  you " 

At  last  it  was  too  plain  to  be  missed. 

"  Hullo  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  are  you  pitching 
into  me  for,  Mrs.  Dennison  ?  " 

His  words  were  ordinary  enough,  but  at  last  he 
was  looking  at  her,  and  the  mails  of  Omofaga  were  for 
a  moment  forgotten. 

"  I  wish  I'd  never  made  them  send  the  wretched 
telegram,"  she  flashed  out  passionately.  "Much 
thanks  I  get !  " 

"  You  shall  have  a  statue  in  the  chief  street  of  the 
chief  town  of " 

'•  I  low  dare  you  !     I'm  not  a  girl  to  be  chaffed." 

The  tears  were  standing  in  her  eyes,  as  she  threw 


WHOSE  SHALL   IT   BE?  77 

herself  back  in  a  chair.  Willie  Huston  got  up  and 
stood  by  her. 

"  You'll  be  proud  of  that  telegram  some  day,"  ho 
said,  rather  as  though  he  felt  bound  to  pay  her  a  com- 
pliment. 

"  Oli,  you  think  that  now  ?  "  she  said,  unconvinced 
of  his  sincerity. 

"  Yes.  Though  was  it  very  difficult  ? "  he  asked 
with  a  sudden  change  of  tone  most  depreciatory  of 
her  exploit. 

She  glanced  at  him  and  smiled  joyfully.  She 
liked  the  depreciation  better  than  the  compliment. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  she  whispered,  "for  me." 

He  laughed  slightly,  and  shut  his  lips  close  again, 
lie  becran  to  understand  Mrs.  Dennison  better. 

o 

"  Still,  though  it  was  easy  for  you,  it  was  precious 
valuable  to  me,"  he  observed. 

"  And  how  you  hate  being  obliged  to  me,  don't 
you  ?  " 

He  perceived  that  she  understood  him  a  little,  but 
he  smiled  again  as  he  asked, 

"  Oh,  but  what  made  you  do  it,  you  know  ?" 

"  You  mean  you  did  ?  Mr.  Ruston,  I  should  like 
to  see  you  at  work  in  Omofaga." 

"  Oh,  a  very  humdrum  business,"  said  he,  with  a 
shrug. 

"  Y'ou'll  have  soldiers?" 

"  We  shall  call  'em  police,"  he  corrected,  smiling. 


Y8  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Yes ;  but  they  keep  everybody  down,  and — and 
do  as  you  order  ?  " 

"  If  not,  I  shall  ask  'em  why." 

"  And  the  natives  ?  " 

"  Civilise  'em." 

"  You — you'll  be  governor?" 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.     Local  administrator." 

She  laughed  in  his  face ;  and  a  grim  smile  from 
him  seemed  to  justify  her. 

"  I'm  glad  I  sent  the  telegram,"  she  half-whis- 
pered, lying  back  in  the  chair  and  looking  up 
at  him.  "  I  shall  have  had  something  to  do 
with  all  that,  shan't  I?  Do  you  want  any  more 
money  ?  " 

"  Look  here,"  said  Willie  Ruston,  "  Omofaga's 
mine.  I'll  find  you  another  place,  if  you  like,  when 
I've  put  this  job  through." 

A  luxury  of  pleasure  rippled  through  her  laugh. 
She  darted  out  her  hand  and  caught  his. 

"  No.  I  like  Omofaga  too  !  "  she  said,  and  as  she 
said  it,  the  door  suddenly  opened,  and  in  walked  Tom 
Loring — that  is  to  say — in  Tom  Loring  was  about  to 
walk ;  but  when  he  saw  what  he  did  see,  he  stood  still 
for  a  moment,  and  then,  without  a  single  word,  either 
of  greeting  or  apology,  he  turned  his  back,  walked  out 
again,  and  shut  the  door  behind  him.  His  entrance 
and  exit  were  so  quick  and  sudden,  that  Mrs.  Denni- 
son  had  hardly  dropped  Willie  Ruston's  hand  before 


WHOSE   SHALL    IT   BE?  7<l 

he  was  gone ;  she  had  certainly  not  dropped  it  before 
he  came. 

Willie  Kuston  sat  down  squarely  in  a  chair.  Mrs. 
Dennison's  hot  mood  had  been  suddenly  cooled.  She 
would  not  ask  him  to  go,  but  she  glanced  at  the  hat 
that  had  been  through  Omofaga.     lie  detected  her. 

"  I  shall  stay  ten  minutes,"  he  observed. 

She  understood  and  nodded  assent.  Very  little 
was  said  during  the  ten  minutes.  Mrs.  Dennison 
seemed  tired ;  her  eyes  dropped  towards  the  ground, 
and  she  reclined  in  her  chair.  Huston  was  frowning 
and  thrumming  at  intervals  on  the  table.  But  pres- 
ently his  brow  cleared  and  he  smiled.  Mrs.  Dennison 
saw  him  from  under  her  drooping  lids. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  petulant  tone. 

"  I  believe  you  were  going  to  light  me  for  Omo- 
faga." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  was  doing." 

"  Is  that  fellow  a  fool  ?  " 

"  He's  a  much  better  man  than  you'll  ever  be,  Mr. 
Kuston.     Really  you  might  go  now." 

"  All  right,  I  will.  I'm  going  down  to  the  city  to 
see  your  husband  and  Carlin." 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  wasted  your  time." 

She  spoke  with  a  bitterness  which  seemed  impos- 
sible to  miss.     But  he  appeared  to  miss  it. 

"  Oh,  not  a  bit,  really,"  he  assured  her  anxiously. 
"  Good-bye,"  he  added,  holding  out  his  hand. 


80  THE   GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

'■  Good-bye.     I've  shaken  hands  once." 

He  waited  a  moment  to  see  if  she  would  speak 
again,  but  she  said  nothing.     So  he  left  her. 

As  he  called  a  hansom,  Mrs.  Cormack  was  leaning 
over  her  balcony.  She  took  a  little  jewelled  watch 
out  of  her  pocket  and  looked  at  it. 

"An  hour  and  a  quarter!"  she  cried.  "And  I 
know  the  poor  man  isn't  at  home  !  " 


CHAPTER   VII. 

AN   ATTEMPT  TO   STOP   THE   WHEELS. 

Miss  Adela  Ferraks  lived  in  Queen's  Gate,  in 
compauy  with  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Topham.  Mrs.  Top- 
ham's  husband  had  been  the  younger  son  of  a  peer 
of  ancient  descent;  and  a  practised  observer  might 
almost  have  detected  the  fact  in  her  manner,  for  she 
took  her  station  in  this  life  as  seriously  as  her  position 
in  the  next,  and,  in  virtue  of  it,  assumed  a  respon- 
sibility for  the  morals  of  her  inferiors  which  betrayed 
a  considerable  confidence  in  her  own.  But  she  was  a 
good  woman,  and  a  widow  of  the  pattern  most  op- 
posite to  that  of  Mrs.  Cormack.  She  dwelt  more 
truly  in  the  grave  of  her  husband  than  in  Queen's 
Gate,  and  permitted  herself  no  recreations  except 
such  as  may  privily  creep  into  religious  exercises  and 
the  ministrations  of  favourite  clergymen ;  and  it  is 
pleasant  to  think  that  she  was  very  happy.  As  may 
be  supposed,  however,  Adela  (who  was  a  good  woman 
in  quite  another  way,  and  therefore  less  congenial 
with  her  aunt  than  any  mere  sinner  could  have  been) 

(81) 


82  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAlt. 

and  Mrs.  Topham  saw  very  little  of  one  another,  and 
would  not  have  thought  of  living  together  unless  each 
had  been  able  to  supply  what  the  other  wanted. 
Adela  found  money  for  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Topham 
lent  the  shelter  of  her  name  to  her  niece's  unpro- 
tected condition.  There  were  separate  sitting-rooms 
for  the  two  ladies,  and,  if  rumour  were  true  (which, 
after  all,  it  usually  is  not),  a  separate  staircase  for  the 
clergy. 

Adela  was  in  her  drawing-room  one  afternoon 
when  Lord  Semingham  was  announced.  He  appeared 
to  be  very  warm,  and  he  carried  a  bundle  of  papers  iu 
his  hand.  Among  the  papers  there  was  one  of  those 
little  smooth  white  volumes  which  epitomise  so  much 
of  the  joy  and  sorrow  of  this  transitory  life.  He  gave 
himself  a  shake,  as  he  sat  down,  and  held  up  the 
book. 

"  The  car  has  begun  to  move,"  he  observed. 

"Juggernaut's?" 

"Yes;  and  I  have  been  to  see  my  bankers.  I  take 
a  trip  to  the  seaside  instead  of  a  moor  this  year,  and 
have  let  my  own  pheasant  shooting." 

He  paused  and  added, 

"  Dennison  has  not  taken  my  shooting.  They  go 
to  the  seaside  too — with  the  children." 

He  paused  again  and  concluded, 

"The  Omofaga  prospectus  will  be  out  to-morrow." 

Adela  laughed. 


AN   ATTEMPT  TO  STOP  THE   WHEELS.         83 

"  Bessie  is  really  quite  annoyed,"  remarked  Lord 
Semingham.  "  I  have  seldom  seen  her  so  perturbed — 
but  I've  sent  Huston  to  talk  to  her." 

"And  why  did  you  do  it?"  asked  Adela. 

"  I  should  like  to  tell  you  a  little  history,"  said  he. 

And  he  told  her  how  Mrs.  Dennison  had  sent  a 
telegram  to  Frankfort.  This  history  was  long,  for 
Lord  Semingham  told  it  dramatically,  as  though  he 
enjoyed  its  quality.  Yet  Adela  made  no  comment  be- 
yond asking, 

"  And  wasn't  she  right  ?  " 

"Oh,  for  the  Empire  perhaps — for  us,  it  means 
trips  to  the  seaside." 

He  drew  his  chair  a  little  nearer  hers,  and  dropped 
his  affectation  of  comic  plaintiveness. 

"  A  most  disgusting  thing  has  happened  in  Curzon 
Street,"  he  said.     "  Have  you  heard  ?  " 

"  No ;  I've  seen  nothing  of  Maggie  lately.  You've 
all  been  buried  in  Omofaga." 

"  Hush  !  No  words  of  ill-omen,  please  !  Well,  it's 
annoyed  me  immensely  I  can't  think  what  the  fool- 
ish fellow  means.     Tom  Loring's  going." 

"Tom — Loring — going?"  she  exclaimed  with  a 
punctuated  pause  between  every  word.  "  What  in  the 
world  for?" 

"  What  is  the  ultimate  cause  of  everything  that 
happens  to  us  now  ?  "  he  asked,  sticking  his  glass  in 
his  eye. 


84:  THE   UOU   IN   THE   CAR. 

Adela  felt  as  though  she  were  playing  at  some  ab- 
surd game  of  questions  and  answers,  and  must  make 
her  reply  according  to  the  rules. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Huston !  "  she  said,  with  a  grimace. 

Her  visitor  nodded — as  though  he  had  been  an- 
swered according  to  the  rules. 

"  Tom  broke  out  in  the  most  extraordinary  man- 
ner. He  said  he  couldn't  stay  with  Dennison,  if  Den- 
nison  let  Huston  lead  him  by  the  nose  (ipsisxima 
verba,  my  dear  Adela),  and  told  Huston  to  his  face 
that  he  came  for  no  good." 

"  Were  you  there  ?  " 

"  Yes.  The  man  seemed  to  choose  the  most  public 
opportunity.     Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  thing?" 

"  He's  mad  about  Mr.  Huston.  He  talked  just 
the  same  way  to  me.  What  did  Harry  Denni- 
son say  ?  " 

"Harry  went  up  to  him  and  took  his  hand,  and 
shook  it,  and,  you  know  old  Harry's  way,  tried  to 
smooth  it  all  down,  and  get  them  to  shake  hands. 
Then  Huston  got  up  and  said  he'd  go  and  leave  them 
to  settle  it  between  Tom  and  him.  Oh,  Huston  be- 
haved very  well.  It  was  uncommonly  awkward  for 
him,  you  know." 

"  Yes  ;  and  when  he'd  gone  ?  " 

"  Harry  told  Tom  that  he  must  keep  his  engage- 
ments; but  that,  sooner  than  lose  him,  he'd  go  no 
deeper.     That  was  pretty  handsome,  I  thought,  but  it 


AN  ATTEMPT  TO  STOP  THE   WHEELS.         85 

didn't  suit  Tom.  '  I  can't  stay  in  the  house  while 
that  fellow  comes,'  he  said." 

"  While  he  comes  to  the  house?"  cried  Adela. 

Lord  Semingham  nodded.  "  You've  hit  the  point," 
he  seemed  to  say,  and  he  went  on, 

"  And  then  they  both  turned  and  looked  at  Maggie 
Dennison.  She'd  been  sitting  there  without  speaking 
a  single  word  the  whole  time.  I  couldn't  go — Harry 
wouldn't  let  me — so  I  got  into  a  corner  and  looked  at 
the  photograph  book.  I  felt  rather  an  ass,  between 
ourselves,  you  know." 

"  And  what  did  Maggie  say  ?  " 

"  Harry  was  looking  as  puzzled  as  an  owl,  and  Tom 
as  obstinate  as  a  toad,  and  both  stared  at  her.  She 
looked  first  at  Harry,  and  then  at  Tom,  and  smiled  in 
that  quiet  way  of  hers.  By  the  way,  I  never  feel  that 
I  quite  understand " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  !     Of  course  you  don't.     Go  on." 

"  And  then  she  said,  '  What  a  fuss !  I  hope  that 
after  all  this  Omofaga  business  is  over  Mr.  Loring 
will  come  back  to  us.'  Pretty  straight  for  Tom, 
eh?  He  turned  crimson,  and  walked  right  out 
of  the  room,  and  she  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  be- 
gan to  play  some  infernal  tune,  and  that  soft-hearted 
old  baby,  Harry,  blew  his  nose,  and  damned  the 
draught," 

"  And  he's  going  ?  " 

«  Yes." 


86  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  But,"  she  broke  out,  "  how  can  he  ?  He's  got  no 
money.     AVhat'll  he  live  on  ?  " 

"  Harry  offered  him  as  much  as  he  wanted  ;  but  he 
said  he  had  some  savings,  and  wouldn't  take  a  far- 
thing. He  said  he'd  write  for  papers,  or  some  such 
stuff." 

"  He's  been  with  the  Dennisons  ever  since — oh, 
years  and  years !  Can't  you  take  him  ?  He'd  be 
awfully  useful  to  you." 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  can't  offer  charity  to  Tom  Lor- 
ing,"  said  Semingham,  and  he  added  quickly,  "  No 
more  can  you,  you  know." 

"I  quarrelled  with  him  desperately  a  week  ago," 
said  she  mournfully. 

"  About  Ruston  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.     About  Mr.  Ruston,  of  course." 

Lord  Semingham  whistled  gently,  and,  after  a 
pause,  Adela  leant  forward  and  asked, 

"  Do  you  feel  quite  comfortable  about  it  ?  " 

"  Hang  it,  no!  But  I'm  too  deep  in.  I  hope  to 
heaven  the  public  will  swallow  it !  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  your  wretched  Company." 

"Oh,  you  didn't?" 

"No;  I  meant  Curzon  Street." 

"It  hardly  lies  in  my  mouth  to  blame  Dennison, 
or  his  wife  either.  If  they've  been  foolish,  so  have  I." 
A<!ela  looked  at  him  as  if  she  thought  him  profoundly 
unsatisfactory.      lie    was   vaguely  conscious  of    her 


AN  ATTEMPT  TO  STOP  THE   WHEELS.         87 

depreciation,  and  added,  "  Huston's  not  a  rogue,  you 
know." 

"  No.  If  I  thought  he  was,  I  shouldn't  be  going 
to  take  shares  in  Omofaga." 

"You're  not?" 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  ! " 

"  Another  spinster  lady  on  my  conscience  !  I  shall 
certainly  em]  in  the  dock  ! "  Lord  Semingham  took 
his  hat  and  shook  hands.  Just  as  he  got  to  the  door, 
he  turned  round,  and,  with  an  expression  of  deprecat- 
ing helplessness,  fired  a  last  shot.  "  Huston  came  to 
see  Bessie  the  other  day,"  he  said.  "  The  new  mantle 
she's  just  invented  is  to  be  called — the  Omofaga: 
That  is  unless  she  changes  it  because  of  the  moor.  I 
suggested  the  Pis-aller,  but  she  didn't  see  it.  She 
never  does,  you  know.     Good-bye." 

The  moment  he  was  gone,  Adela  put  on  her  hat 
and  drove  to  Curzon  Street.  She  found  Mrs.  Denni- 
son  alone,  and  opened  fire  at  once. 

"  What  have  you  done,  Maggie  ?  "  she  cried,  fling- 
ing her  gloves  on  the  table  and  facing  her  friend  with 
accusing  countenance. 

Mrs.  Dennison  was  smelling  a  rose  ;  she  smelt  it  a 
little  longer,  and  then  replied  with  another  question. 

"  Why  can't  men  hate  quietly  ?  They  must  make 
a  fuss.  I  can  go  on  hating  a  woman  for  years  and 
never  show  it." 

"  We  have  the  vices  of  servility,"  said  Adela. 


88  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Harry  is  a  melancholy  sight,"  resumed  Mrs.  Den- 
nisou.  "  He  spends  his  time  looking  for  the  blot- 
ting-paper ;  Tom  Loring  used  to  keep  it,  you 
know." 

Her  tone  deepened  the  expression  of  disapproval 
on  Adela's  face. 

"  I've  never  been  so  distressed  about  anything  in 
my  life,"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  he'll  come  back."  As  she  spoke,  a 
sudden  mischievous  smile  spread  over  her  face.  "  You 
should  hear  Bertho  Cormack  on  it !  "  she  said. 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  Mrs.  Cormack  at  all.  I 
hate  the  woman— and  I  think  that  I — at  any  rate- 
show  it." 

It  surprised  Adela  to  find  her  friend  in  such  ex- 
cellent spirits.  The  air  of  listlessness,  which  was  apt 
to  mar  her  manner,  and  even  to  some  degree  her  ap- 
pearance  (for  to  look  bored  is  not  becoming),  had 
entirely  vanished. 

"  You  don't  seem  very  sorry  about  poor  Mr.  Lor- 
ing," Adela  observed. 

"Oh,  I  am;  but  Mr.  Loring  can't  stop  the  wheels 
of  the  world.     And  it's  his  own  fault." 

Adela  Bighed.  It  did  not  seem  of  consequence 
whose  fault  it  was. 

"  I  don't  think  I  care  much  about  the  wheels  of 
the  world,"  she  said.  "How  are  the  children,  Mag- 
gie?" 


AN  ATTEMPT  TO  STOP  THE   WHEELS.         89 

"Oh,  splendid,  and  in  groat  glee  about  the  sea- 
side " — and  Mrs.  Dennison  laughed. 

"  And  about  losing  Tom  Loring?  " 

"  They  cried  at  first." 

"  Does  anyone  ever  do  anything  more  than  '  cry  at 
first '?  "  exclaimed  Adela. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  don't  be  tragical,  or  cynical,  or 
whatever  you  are  being,"  said  Maggie  pettishly. 
"  Mr.  Loring  has  chosen  to  be  very  silly,  and  there's 
an  end  of  it.  Have  you  seen  the  prospectus?  Do 
you  know  Mr.  Huston  brought  it  to  show  me  before  it 
was  submitted  to  Mr.  Belford  and  the  others— the 
Board,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  see  quite  enough  of  Mr.  Rus- 
ton,"  said  Adela,  putting  up  her  glass  and  exam- 
ining Mrs.  Dennison  closely.  She  spoke  coolly, 
but  with  a  nervous  knowledge  of  her  presump- 
tion. 

Mrs.  Dennison  may  have  had  a  taste  for  diplo- 
macy and  the  other  arts  of  government,  but  she 
was  no  diplomatist.  She  thought  herself  gravely 
wronged  by  Adela's  suggestion,  and  burst  out  an- 
grily, 

"  Oh,  you've  been  listening  to  Tom  Loring  !  "  and 
her  heightened  colour  seemed  not  to  agree  with  the 
idea  that,  if  Adela  had  listened,  Tom  had  talked 
of  nothing  but  Omofaga.  "  I  don't  mind  it  from 
Berthe,"  Mrs.  Dennison  continued,  "  but  from  you  it's 


00  THE  GOD   IN  THE   CAR. 

too  bad.     I  suppose  he  told  you  the  whole  thing  ?    I 
declare  I  wasn't  dreaming  of  anything  of  the  kind  ; 

1  was  just  excited,  and " 

"  I  haven't  seen  Mr.  Loring,"  put  in  Adela  as  soon 
as  she  could. 

"  Then  how  do  you  know ?  " 

"Lord  Semingham  told  me  you  quarrelled  with 
Mr.  Loring  about  Omofaga." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Maggie,  was  there  any  more  ?  " 

"  Do  you  want  to  quarrel  with  me  too?  " 

"  I  believe  Mr.  Loring  had  good  reasons." 

"  You  must  believe  what  you  like,"  said  Mrs.  Den- 
nison,  tearing  her  rose  to  pieces.  "  Yes,  there  was 
some  more." 

"What?"  asked  Adela,  expecting  to  be  told  to 
mind  her  own  business. 

Mrs.  Dennison  flung  away  the  rose  and  began  to 
laugh. 

"He  found  me  holding  Willie  Ruston's  hand  and 
telling  him  I— liked  Omofaga  !     That's  all." 

"  Holding  his  hand  !  "  exclaimed  Adela,  justifiably 
scandalised  and  bopelessly  puzzled.  "  What  did  you 
do  that  for?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison.  "  It  hap- 
pened somehow  as  we  were  talking.  We  got  inter- 
ested, you  know." 

Adela's  next  question  was  also  one  at  which  it  was 


AN  ATTEMPT  TO  STOP  THE  WHEELS.         91 

possible  to  take  offence  ;  but  sbe  was  careless  now 
whether  offence  were  taken  or  not. 

"  Are  you  and  the  children  going  to  the  seaside 
soon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  rejoined  her  friend,  still  smiling.  "  We 
shall  soon  be  deep  in  pails  and  spades  and  bathing, 
and  buckets  and  paddling,  and  a  final  charming  walk 
with  Harry  in  the  moonlight." 

As  the  sentence  went  on,  the  smile  became  more 
fixed  and  less  pleasant. 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  talk  like  that,"  said 
Adela. 

Mrs.  Dennison  walked  up  the  room  and  down 
again. 

"  So  I  am,"  she  said,  pausing  to  look  down  on 
Adela,  and  then  resuming  her  walk. 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  this  Omofaga  affair — yes,  and 
Mr.  Ruston  too — had  never  been  invented.  It  seems 
to  set  us  all  wrong." 

"  Wrong  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Dennison.  "  Oh,  yes,  if 
it's  wrong  to  have  something  one  can  take  a  little 
interest  in  ! " 

"  You're  hopeless  to-day,  Maggie.  I  shall  go  away. 
What  did  you  take  his  hand  for  ?  " 

"  Nothing.     I  tell  you  I  was  excited." 

"  Well,  I  think  he's  a  man  one  ought  to  keep  cool 
with." 

"  Oh,  he's  cool  enough.     He'll  keep  you  cool." 


92                        THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 
"  But  he  didn't " 


"  Oh,  don't — pray  don't !  "  cried  Mrs.  Dennison. 

Adela  took  her  leave ;  and,  as  luck  would  have  it, 
opened  the  door  just  as  Tom  Loring  was  walking 
downstairs  with  an  enormous  load  of  dusty  papers  in 
lii.s  hands.  She  pulled  the  door  close  behind  her 
hastily,  exclaiming, 

"  Why,  I  thought  you'd  gone  !  " 

"  So  you've  heard  ?  I'm  just  putting  things  ship- 
shape.    I  go  this  evening." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry — still,  for  your  sake,  I'm  glad." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"You    may  do    something   on  your  own  account 


now." 


"  I  don't  want  to  do  anything,"  said  Tom  obsti- 
nately. 

"  Come  and  see  me  some  day.  I've  forgiven  you, 
you  know." 

"  So  I  will." 

"  Mr.  Loring,  are  you  going  to  say  good-bye  to 
Maggie  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  so."  Then  he  added, 
detecting  Adela's  unexpressed  hope,  "  Oh,  it's  not  a 
bit  of  use,  you  know." 

Adela  passed  on,  and,  later,  Loring,  having 
finished  his  work  and  being  about  to  go,  sought  out 
Mrs.  Dennison. 

"You're  determined  to  go,  are  you?"  she  asked, 


AN   ATTEMPT  TO   STOP  THE  WHEELS.         93 

with  the  air  of  one  who  surrenders  before  an  inex- 
plicable whim. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom.     "  You  know  I  must  go." 

"Why?" 

"  I'm  not  a  saint — nor  a  rogue ;  if  I  were  either, 
I  might  stay." 

"  Or  even  if  you  were  a  sensible  man,"  suggested 
Maggie  Denuison. 

"  Beiug  merely  an  honest  man,  I  think  I'll  go. 
I've  tried  to  put  all  Harry's  things  right  for  him,  and 
to  make  it  as  easy  for  him  to  get  along  as  I  can." 

"  Can  he  find  his  papers  and  blue-books  and 
things  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  I  got  abstracts  ready  on  all  the 
things  he  cares  about." 

"  He'll  miss  you  horribly.     Ah,  well !  " 

"  I  suppose  a  little  ;  but,  really,  I  think  he'll  learn 
to  get  along " 

Mrs.  Dennison  interrupted  with  a  laugh. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  asked,  "  what  we  remind  me 
of?  Why,  of  a  husband  and  wife  separating,  and 
wondering  whether  the  children  will  miss  poor  papa — 
though  poor  papa  insists  in  going,  and  mamma  is  sure 
he  must." 

"  I  never  mentioned  the  children,"  said  Tom 
angrily. 

"  I  know  you  didn't." 

Tom  looked  at  her  for  an  instant. 

7 


94:  THE   GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  said  he,  "  don't  let  him  see 
that ! " 

"  Oh,  how  you  twist  things ! "  she  cried  in  im- 
patient protest. 

Tom  only  shook  his  head.  The  charge  was  not 
sincere. 

"  Good-bye,  Tom,"  she  went  on  after  a  pause.  "  I 
believe,  some  day  or  other,  you'll  come  back — or,  at 
any  rate,  come  and  live  next  door— instead  of  Berthe 
Cormack,  you  know.  But  I  don't  know  in  what 
state  you'll  find  us." 

"  I'd  just  like  to  tell  you  one  thing,  if  I  may,"  said 
Tom,  resolutely  refusing  to  meet  the  softened  look  in 
her  eyes  with  any  answering  friendliness. 

"Yes?" 

"  You've  got  one  of  the  best  fellows  in  the  world 
for  a  husband." 

"  Well,  I  know  that,  I  suppose,  at  least,  as  well  as 
you  do." 

"  That's  all.     Good-bye." 

AVithout  more  he  left  her.  She  drew  the  window- 
curtain  aside  and  watched  him  get  into  his  cab  and 
be  driven  away.  The  house  was  very  still.  Her 
husband  was  in  his  place  at  Westminster,  and  the 
children  had  gone  to  a  party.  She  went  upstairs  to 
the  nursery,  hoping  to  find  something  to  criticise; 
then  to  Harry's  dressing-room,  where  she  filled  his 
pin-cushion  with  pins   and   put   fresh  water   to   the 


AN   ATTEMPT  TO  STOP  THE   WHEELS.         95 

flowers  in  the  vase.  She  could  find  no  other  offices  of 
wife  or  mother  to  do,  and  she  presently  found  herself 
looking  into  Tom's  room,  which  was  very  bare  and 
desolate,  stripped  of  the  homelike  growth  of  a  five 
years'  tenancy.  Her  excitement  was  over;  she  felt 
terribly  like  a  child  after  a  tantrum  ;  she  flung  open 
the  window  of  the  room  and  stood  listening  to  the 
noise  of  the  town.  It  was  the  noise  of  happy  people, 
who  had  plenty  to  do ;  or  of  happier  still,  who  did 
not  want  to  do  anything,  and  thus  found  content. 
She  turned  away  and  walked  downstairs  with  a  step 
as  heavy   as  physical   weariness   brings  with   it.     It 

came  as  a  curious  aggravation — light  itself,  but  gain- 
ing weight  from  its  surroundings — that,  for  once  in  a 
way,  she  had  no  engagements  that  evening.  All  the 
tide  seemed  to  be  flowing  by,  leaving  her  behind  high 
and  dry  on  the  shore.  Even  the  children  had  their 
party,  even  Harry  his  toy  at  Westminster ;  and  Willie 
Ruston  was  working  might  and  main  to  give  a  good 
start  to  Omofaga.  Only  of  her  had  the  world  no 
need— and  no  heed. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CONVERTS    AND   HERETICS. 

Had  Lord  Semingham  and  Harry  Dennison  taken 
an  opportunity  which  many  persons  would  have 
thought  that  they  had  a  right  to  take,  they  might 
have  shifted  the  burden  of  the  Baron's  douceur  and 
of  sundry  other  not  trifling  expenses  on  to  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  public,  and  enjoyed  their  moors  that  year 
after  all ;  for  at  the  beginning  Omofaga  obtained  such 
a  moderate  and  reasonable  "  boom  "  as  would  have  en- 
abled them  to  perform  the  operation  known  as  "  un- 
loading" (and  literary  men  must  often  admire  the 
terse  and  condensed  expressiveness  of  "  City "  meta- 
phors) with  much  profit  to  themselves.  But  either 
they  conceived  this  course  of  conduct  to  be  beneath 
them,  or  they  were  so  firm  of  faith  in  Mr.  Ruston 
that  they  stood  to  their  guns  and  their  shares,  and 
took  their  seats  at  the  Board,  over  which  Mr.  Foster 
Belford  magniloquently  presided,  still  possessed  of  the 
strongest  personal  interest  in  the  success  of  Omo- 
faga.    Lady   Semingham,  having   been   made  aware 

(96) 


CONVERTS  AND   HERETICS.  97 

that  Omofaga  shares  were  selling  at  forty  shillings  a 
piece,  was  quite  unable  to  understand  why  Alfred  and 
Mr.  Dennison  did  not  sell  all  they  had,  and  thereby 
procure  moors  or  whatever  else  they  wanted.  Willie 
Ruston  had  to  be  sent  for  again,  and  when  he  told 
her  that  the  same  shares  would  shortly  be  worth  five 
pounds  (which  he  did  with  the  most  perfect  confi- 
dence), she  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  see  why  they  were 
on  sale  to  anybody  who  chose  to  pay  forty  shillings. 
Ruston,  who  liked  to  make  everybody  a  convert  to  his 
own  point  of  view,  spent  the  best  part  of  an  afternoon 
conversing  with  the  little  lady,  but,  when  he  came 
away,  he  left  her  placidly  admiring  the  Omofaga  man- 
tle which  had  just  arrived  from  the  milliner's,  and 
promised  to  create  an  immense  sensation. 

"  I  believe  she's  all  gown,"  said  he  despairingly,  at 
the  Valentines  in  the  evening.  "  If  you  undressed 
her  there'd  be  no  one  there." 

"  Well,  there  oughtn't  to  be  many  people,"  said 
young  Sir  Walter,  with  a  hearty  laugh  at  his  boyish 
joke. 

"  Walter,  how  can  you  ! "  cried  Marjory. 

This  little  conversation,  trivial  though  it  be,  has 
its  importance,  as  indicating  the  very  remarkable 
change  which  had  occurred  in  young  Sir  Walter. 
There  at  least  Ruston  had  made  a  notable  convert, 
and  he  had  effected  this  result  by  the  simple  but 
audacious  device  of  offering  to  take  Sir  Walter  with 


98  TUB  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

him  to  Omofaga.  Sir  Walter  was  dazzled.  Between 
spending  another  year  or  two  at  Oxford  in  statu  pu- 
pillary vexed  by  schools  and  disciplined  by  proctors 
— between  being  required  to  be  in  by  twelve  at  night 
and  unable  to  visit  London  without  permission — be- 
tween this  unfledged  state  and  the  position  of  a  man 
among  the  men  who  were  in  the  vanguard  of  the  em- 
pire there  rolled  a  flood;  and  the  flood  was  mighty 
enough  to  sweep  away  all  young  Sir  Walter's  doubts 
about  Mr.  Ruston  being  a  gentleman,  to  obliterate 
Evan  Haselden's  sneers,  to  upi*oot  his  influence — in  a 
word,  to  transform  that  youthful  legislator  from  a 
paragon  of  wisdom  and  accomplishments  into  "  a  good 
chap,  but  rather  a  lot  of  side  on,  you  know." 

Marjory,  having  learnt  from  literature  that  hers 
was  supposed  to  be  the  fickle  sex,  might  well  open  her 
eyes  and  begin  to  feel  very  sorry  indeed  for  poor  Evan 
Ilaselden.  But  she  also  was  under  the  spell  and 
hailed  the  sun  of  glory  rising  for  her  brother  out  of 
the  mists  of  Omofaga;  and  if  poor  Lady  Valentine 
slid!  some  tears  before  Willie  Ruston  convinced  her 
of  the  rare  chance  it  was  for  her  only  boy — and  a  few 
more  after  he  had  so  convinced  her — why,  it  would  be 
lucky  if  these  were  the  only  tears  lost  in  the  process 
of  developing  Omofaga;  for  it  seems  that  great  enter- 
prises must  always  be  watered  by  the  tears  of  mothers 
and  nourished  on  the  blood  of  sons.  Sic  fortis  Etru- 
ria  crcvit. 


CONVERTS  AND   HERETICS.  00 

One  or  two  other  facts  may  here  be  chronicled 
about  Omofaga.  There  were  three  great  meetings  : 
one  at  the  Cannon  Street  Hotel,  purely  commercial ; 
another  at  the  Westminster  Town  Hall,  commercial- 
political  ;  a  third  at  Exeter  Hall,  commercial-reli- 
gious. They  were  all  very  successful,  and,  taken  to- 
gether, were  considered  to  cover  the  ground  pretty 
completely.  The  most  unlike  persons  and  the  most 
disparate  views  found  a  point  of  union  in  Omofaga. 
Adela  Ferrars  put  three  thousand  pounds  into  it, 
Lady  Valentine  a  thousand.  Mr.  Carlin  finally  dis- 
posed of  the  coal  business,  and  his  wife  dreamt  of  the 
workhouse  all  night  and  scolded  herself  for  her  lack 
of  faith  all  the  morning.  Willie  Huston  spoke  of  be- 
ing off  in  five  months,  and  Sir  Walter  immediately 
bought  a  complete  up-country  outfit. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  cloud.  Omofaga  began  to 
be  "  written  down,"  in  the  most  determined  and  able 
manner.  The  anonymous  detractor — in  such  terms 
did  Mr.  Foster  Belford  refer  to  the  writer — used  the 
columns  of  a  business  paper  of  high  standing,  and  his 
letters,  while  preserving  a  judicial  and  temperate 
tone,  were  uncompromisingly  hostile  and  exceedingly 
damaging.  A  large  part  of  Omofaga  (he  said)  had 
not  been  explored,  indeed,  nobody  knew  exactly  what 
was  and  what  was  not  Omofaga ;  let  the  shareholders 
get  what  comfort  they  could  out  of  that ;  but,  so  far 
as  Omofaga  had  been  explored,  it  had  been  proved  to 


100  THE   GOD  IN   THE  CAR. 

be  barren  of  all  sources  of  wealth.  The  writer  grudg- 
ingly admitted  that  it  might  feed  a  certain  head  of 
cattle,  though  he  hastened  to  add  that  the  flies  were 
fatal  all  the  hot  months ;  but  as  for  gold,  or  dia- 
monds, or  any  such  things  as  companies  most  love, 
there  were  none,  and  if  there  were,  they  could  not  be 
won,  and  if  they  could  be  won  no  European  could  live 
to  win  them.  It  was  a  timid  time  on  the  markets 
then,  and  people  took  fright  easily.  In  a  few  days  any 
temptation  that  might  have  assailed  Lord  Semingham 
and  Harry  Dennison  lost  its  power.  Omofagas  were 
far  below  par,  and  Lady  Semingham  was  entreating 
her  husband  to  buy  all  he  could  against  the  hour  when 
they  should  be  worth  five  pounds  a  piece,  because,  as 
she  said,  Mr.  Ruston  was  quite  sure  that  they  were 
going  to  be,  and  who  knew  more  about  it  than  Mr. 
Ruston  ? 

It  was  just  about  this  time  that  Tom  Loring,  who 
had  vanished  completely  for  a  week  or  two,  after  his 
departure  from  Curzon  Street,  came  up  out  of  the 
depths  and  called  on  Adela  Ferrars  in  Queen's  Gate; 
and  her  first  remark  showed  that  she  was  a  person  of 
some  perspicacity. 

"Isn't  this  rather  small  of  you?"  she  asked, 
putting  on  her  eyeglasses  and  finding  an  article 
which  she  indicated.  "  You  may  not  like  him,  but 
still " 

"  How  like  a  woman ! "  said  Tom  Loring  in  the 


CONVERTS  AND   HERETICS.  1<U 

tone  of  a  man  who  expects  and,  on  the  whole,  wel- 
comes ill-usage.     "  How  did  you  know  it  was  mine?" 

"  It's  so  like  that  article  of  Harry  Dennison's.  1 
think  you  might  put  your  name,  anyhow." 

"Yes,  and  rob  what  I  say  of  all  weight.  Who 
knows  my  name  ?  " 

Adela  felt  an  impulse  to  ask  him  angrily  why 
nobody  knew  his  name,  but  she  inquired  instead  what 
he  thought  he  knew  about  Omofaga.  She  put  this 
question  in  a  rather  offensive  tone. 

It  appeared  that  Tom  Loring  knew  a  great  deal 
about  Omofaga,  all,  in  fact,  that  there  was  to  be 
learnt  from  blue-books,  consular  reports,  gazetteers, 
travels,  and  other  heavy  works  of  a  like  kind. 

"  You've  been  moling  in  the  British  Museum," 
cried  Adela  accusingly. 

Tom  admitted  it  without  the  least  shame. 

"  I  knew  this  thing  was  a  fraud  and  the  man  a 
fraud,  and  I  determined  to  show  him  up  if  I  could," 
said  he. 

"  It's  because  you  hate  him." 

"  Then  it's  lucky  for  the  British  investor  that  I  do 
hate  him." 

"  It's  not  lucky  for  me,"  said  Adela. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you've  been " 

"  Fool  enough  ?  Yes,  I  have.  No,  don't  quarrel 
again.  It  won't  ruin  me,  anyhow.  Are  the  things 
you  say  really  true  ?  " 


102  TnE  G0D  1N  THE  CAR. 

Tom  replied  by  another  question. 

"  Do  you  think  I'd  write  'em  if  I  didn't  believe 
they  were  ?  " 

"  No,  but  you  might  believe  they  were  because  you 
hate  him." 

Tom  seemed  put  out  at  this  idea.  It  is  not  one 
that  generally  suggests  itself  to  a  man  when  his  own 
views  are  in  question. 

"  I  admit  I  began  because  I  hate  him,"  he  said, 
with  remarkable  candour,  after  a  moment's  considera- 
tion ;  "  but,  by  Jove,  as  I  went  on  I  found  plenty  of 
justification.  Look  here,  you  mustn't  tell  anyone  I'm 
writing  them." 

Tom  looked  a  little  embarrassed  as  he  made  this 
request. 

Adela  hesitated  for  a  moment.  She  did  not  like 
the  request,  either. 

"No,  I  won't,"  she  said  at  last;  and  she  added, 
"  I'm  beginning  to  think  I  hate  him,  too.  lie's  turn- 
ing me  into  an  hospital." 

"  What?" 

"  People  he  wounds  come  to  me.  Old  Lady  Valen- 
tine came  and  cried  because  Walter's  going  to  Omo- 
faea:  and  Evan  came  and — well,  swore  because  Walter 
worships  Mr.  Ruston ;  and  Harry  Dennison  came  and 
looked  bewildered,  and — you  know — because — oh,  be- 
cause of  you,  and  so  on." 

"And  now  I  come,  don't  IV" 


Converts  and  heretics.  103 

"  Yes,  and  now  you." 

"And  has  Mrs.  Dennison  come?"  asked  Tom, 
with  a  look  of  disconcerting  directness. 

"  No,"  snapped  Adela,  and  she  looked  at  the  floor, 
whereupon  Tom  diverted  his  eyes  from  her  and  stared 
ut  the  ceiling. 

Presently  he  searched  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  and 
brought  out  a  little  note. 

"Read  that,"  he  said,  a  world  of  disgust  in  his 

tone. 

"  <  I  told  you  so.— B.  C. ' "  read  Adela."  Oh,  it's 
that  Cormack  woman  !  "  she  cried. 

"You  see  what  it  means?     She  means  I've  been 

got  rid  of   in  order  that "      Tom   stopped,  and 

brought  his  clenched  fist  down  on  his  opened  palm. 
"  If  I  thought  it,  I'd  shoot  the  fellow,"  he  ended. 

He  looked  at  her  for  the  answer  to  his  unexpressed 
question. 

Adela  turned  the  pestilential  note  over  and  over  in 
her  fingers,  handling  it  daintily  as  though  it  might 
stain. 

"  I  don't  think  he  means  it,"  she  said  at  last,  with- 
out trying  to  blink  the  truth  of  Tom's  interpretation. 

Tom  rose  and  began  to  walk  about. 

"  Women  beat  me,"  he  broke  out.  "  I  don't  un- 
derstand 'em.  How  should  I  ?  I'm  not  one  of  these 
fellows  who  catch  women's  fancy — thank  God  ! " 

"  If  you  continue  to  dislike  the  idea,  you'll  prob- 


104  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

ably  manage  to  escape  the  reality,"  observed  Adela, 
and  her  tone,  for  some  reason  or  other — perhaps 
merely  through  natnral  championship  of  her  sex — 
was  rather  cold  and  her  manner  stiff. 

"  Oh,  some  women  are  all  right ; "  and  Adela  ac- 
knowledged the  concession  with  a  satirical  bow. 
"  Look  here,  can't  you  help  ?  "  he  burst  out.  "  Tell 
her  what  a  brute  he  is." 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  understand  women  ! " 

"  Well,  then,  I  shall  tell  Dennison.  lie  won't 
stand  nonsense  of  that  kind." 

"  You'll  deserve  horsewhipping  if  you  do,"  re- 
marked Adela. 

"Then  what  am  I  to  do?" 

"  Nothing.  In  fact,  Mr.  Loring,  you  have  no  gen- 
ius for  delicate  operations." 

"  Of  course  I'm  a  fool." 

Adela  played  with  her  pince-nez  for  a  minute  or 
two,  put  it  on,  looked  at  him,  and  then  said,  with  just 
a  touch  of  unwonted  timidity  in  her  voice, 

"  Anyhow,  you  happen  to  be  a  gentleman." 

Poor  Tom  had  been  a  good  deal  buffeted  of  late, 
and  a  friendly  stroking  was  a  pleasant  change.  He 
looked  up  with  a  smile,  but  as  he  looked  up  Adela 
looked  away. 

"  I  think  I'll  stop  those  articles,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  do,"  she  cried,  a  bright  smile  on  her  face. 

"  They've  pretty  well  done  their  work,  too." 


CONVERTS   AND    BERETIC&  105 

"  Don't !  Don't  spoil  it !  But— but  don't  you  get 
money  for  them  ?  " 

Tom  was  in  better  humour  now.  lie  held  out  his 
hand  with  his  old  friendly  smile. 

"  Oh,  wait  till  I  am  in  the  workhouse,  and  then 
you  shall  take  me  out." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  did  mean  that,"  protested 
Adela. 

"  You  always  mean  everything  that — that  the  best 
woman  in  the  world  could  mean,"  and  Tom  wrung  her 
hand  and  disappeared. 

Adela's  hand  was  rather  crushed  and  hurt,  and  for 
a  moment  she  stood  regarding  it  ruefully. 

"I  thought  he  was  going  to  kiss  it,"  she  said. 
"  One  of  those  fellows  who  take  women's  fancy,  per- 
haps, would  have  !  And — and  it  wouldn't  have  hurt 
so  much.  Ah,  well,  I'm  very  glad  he's  going  to  stop 
the  articles." 

And  the  articles  did  stop;  and  perhaps  things 
might  have  fallen  out  worse  than  that  an  honest 
man,  driven  hard  by  bitterness,  should  do  a  useful 
thing  from  a  doubtful  motive,  and  having  done  just 
enough  of  it,  should  repent  and  sin  no  more ;  for  un- 
questionably the  articles  prevented  a  great  many  per- 
sons from  paying  an  unduly  high  price  for  Omofaga 
shares.  This  line  of  thought  seems  defensible,  but  it 
was  not  Adela's.  She  rejoiced  purely  that  Tom  should 
turn  away  from  the  doubtful  thing ;  and  if  Tom  had 


lOu  THE   GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

been  a  man  of  greater  acuteness,  it  would  have  struck 
him  as  worthy  of  note,  perhaps  even  of  gratification, 
that  Miss  Adela  Ferrars  should  care  so  much  whether 
ho  did  or  did  not  do  doubtful  things.  But  then  Miss 
Ferrars — for  it  seems  useless  to  keep  her  secret  any 
longer,  the  above  recorded  interview  having  somewhat 
impaired  its  mystery — was  an  improbably  romantic 
person — such  are  to  be  met  even  at  an  age  beyond 
twenty-five — and  was  very  naturally  ashamed  of  her 
weakness.  People  often  are  ashamed  of  being  better 
than  their  surroundings.  Being  better  they  feel  better, 
and  feeling  better  they  feel  priggish,  and  then  they  try 
not  to  be  better,  and  happily  fail.  So  Adela  was  very 
shamefaced  over  her  ideal,  and  would  as  soon  have 
thought  of  preaching  on  a  platform — of  which  prac- 
tice she  harboured  a  most  bigoted  horror — as  of  pro- 
claiming the  part  that  love  must  play  in  her  marriage. 
The  romantic  resolve  lay  snug  in  its  hidden  nest,  shel- 
tered from  cold  gusts  of  ridicule  by  a  thick  screen  of 
worldly  sayings,  and,  when  she  sent  away  a  suitor,  of 
worldly-wise  excuses.  Thus  no  one  suspected  it,  not 
even  Tom  Loring,  although  he  thought  her  "  the 
best  of  women;"  a  form  of  praise,  by  the  way,  that 
gave  the  lady  honoured  by  it  less  pleasure  than  less 
valuable  commendation  might  have  done.  Why  best? 
Why  not  most  charming  ?  Well,  probably  because  he 
thought  the  one  and  didn't  think  the  other.  She  was 
the  best;  but  there  was  another  whose  doings  and 


CONVERTS  AND   HERETICS.  107 

whose  peril  had  robbed  Tom  Loring  of  his  peace,  and 
made  him  do  the  doubtful  thing.  Why  had  he  done 
it?  Or  (and  Adda  smiled  mockingly  at  this  resur- 
rection of  the  Old  Woman),  if  he  did  do  it,  why  did 
he  do  it  for  Maggie  Deunison  ?  She  didn't  believe  he 
would  ever  do  a  doubtful  thing  for  her.  For  that  she 
loved  him ;  but  perhaps  she  would  have  loved  him — 
well,  not  less — if  he  did ;  for  how  she  would  forgive 
him ! 

After  half-an-hour  of  this  kind  of  thing — it  was 
her  own  summary  of  her  meditations — she  dressed, 
went  out  to  dinner,  sat  next  Evan  Ilaselden,  and  said 
cynical  things  all  the  evening;  so  that,  at  last  Evan 
told  her  that  she  had  no  more  feeling  than  a  mummi- 
fied Methodist.     This  was  exactly  what  she  wanted. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AN   OPPRESSIVE    ATMOSPHERE. 

The  Right  Honourable  Foster  Belford,  although 
not,  like  Mr.  Pitt,  famous  for  "  ruining  Great  Britain 
gratis  " — perhaps  merely  from  want  of  the  opportuni- 
ty— had  yet  not  made  a  fortune  out  of  political  life, 
and  it  had  suggested  a  pleasant  addition  to  his  means, 
when  Willie  Ruston  offered  him  the  chairmanship  of 
the  Omofaga  Company,  with  the  promise  of  a  very 
comfortable  yearly  honorarium.  He  accepted  the 
post  with  alacrity,  but  without  undue  gratitude,  for 
he  considered  himself  well  worth  the  price  ;  and  the 
surprising  fact  is  that  he  was  well  worth  it.  lie 
bulked  large  to  the  physical  and  mental  view.  His 
colleagues  in  the  Cabinet  had  taken  a  year  or  two  to 
find  out  his  limits,  and  the  public  had  not  found  them 
out  yet.  Therefore  he  was  not  exactly  a  fool.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  limits  were  certainly  there,  and  so 
there  was  no  danger  of  his  developing  an  inconvenient 
greatness.     As  has  been  previously  hinted,  he  enjoyed 

Harry  Dennison's  entire  confidence  ;  and  he  could  be 

am) 


AN   OPPRESSIVE  ATMOSPHERE.  109 

relied  upon  not  to  understand  Lord  Semingham's 
irreverence.  Thus  his  appointment  did  good  to  the 
Omofaga  as  well  as  to  himself,  and  only  the  initiated 
winked  when  Willie  Ruston  hid  himself  behind  this 
imposing  figure  and  pulled  the  strings. 

"  The  best  of  it  is,"  Ruston  remarked  to  Seming- 
ham,  "  that  you  and  Carlin  will  have  the  whole  thing 
in  your  own  hands  when  I've  gone  out.  Belford 
won't  give  you  any  trouble." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  I  don't  want  it  all  in  my 
hands.  I  want  to  grow  rich  out  of  it  without  any 
trouble." 

Ruston  twisted  his  cigar  in  his  mouth.  The  pros- 
pect of  immediate  wealth  flowing  in  from  Omo- 
faga was,  as  Lord  Semingham  knew  very  well,  not 
assured. 

"  Loring's  stopped  hammering  us,"  said  Ruston ; 
"  thats  one  thing." 

"  Oh,  you  found  out  he  wrote  them  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  uncommonly  well  he  did  it,  confound 
him.  I  Avish  we  could  get  that  fellow.  There's  a 
good  deal  in  him." 

"  You  see,"  observed  Lord  Semingham,  "  he 
doesn't  like  you.  I  don't  know  that  you  went  the 
right  way  about  to  make  him." 

The  remark  sounded  blunt,  but  Semingham  bad 

learnt  not  to  waste  delicate  phrases  on  Willie  Ruston. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  know  he  was  worth  the  trouble." 
8 


110  THE   GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  One  path  to  greatness  is  said  to  be  to  make  no 
enemies." 

"A  very  roundabout   one,  I   should    think.     I'm 
going  to  make  a  good  many  enemies  in  Omofaga." 

Lord  Semingham  suddenly  rose,  put  on  his  hat, 
and  left  the  offices  of  the  Company.  Mrs.  Dennison 
had,  a  little  while  ago,  complained  to  him  that  she 
ate,  drank,  breathed  and  wore  Omofaga.  He  had 
detected  the  insincerity  of  her  complaint,  but  he  was 
becoming  inclined  to  echo  it  in  all  genuineness  on  his 
own  account.  There  were  moments  when  he  won- 
dered how  and  why  he  had  allowed  this  young  man  to 
lead  him  so  far  and  so  deep ;  moments  when  a  con- 
vulsion of  Nature,  redistributing  Africa  and  blotting 
out  Omofaga,  would  have  left  him  some  thousands  of 
pounds  poorer  in  purse,  but  appreciably  more  cheerful 
in  spirit.  Perhaps  matters  would  mend  when  the 
Local  Administrator  had  departed  to  his  local  admin- 
istration, and  only  the  mild  shadow  of  him  which 
bore  the  name  of  Carlin  trod  the  boards  of  Queen 
Street,  Cheapside.  Ruston  began  to  be  oppressive. 
The  restless  energy  and  domineering  mind  of  the  man 
wearied  Semingham's  indolent  and  dilettante  spirit, 
and  he  hailed  the  end  of  the  season  as  an  excellent 
excuse  for  putting  himself  beyond  the  reach  of  his 
colleague  for  a  few  weeks.  Yet,  the  more  he  quailed, 
the  more  he  trusted  ;  and  when  a  very  great  man, 
holding  a  very  great  office,  met  him  in  the  House  of 


AN  OPPRESSIVE   ATMOSPHERE.  m 

Lords,  and  expressed  the  opinion  that  when  the  Com- 
pany and  Mr.  Ruston  went  to  Omofaga  they  would 
find  themselves  in  a  pretty  hornets'  nest,  Lord  Sem- 
ingham only  said  that  he  should  be  sorry  for  the 
hornets. 

"  Don't  ask  us  to  fetch  your  man  out  for  you, 
that's  all,"  said  the  very  great  man. 

And  for  an  instant  Lord  Semingham,  still  feeling 
that  load  upon  his  shoulders,  fancied  that  it  would  be 
far  from  his  heart  to  prefer  such  a  request.  There 
might  be  things  less  just  and  fitting  than  that  Willie 
Ruston  and  those  savage  tribes  of  Omofaga  should  be 
left  to  fight  out  the  quarrel  by  themselves,  the  civil- 
ised world  standing  aloof.  And  the  dividends— well, 
of  course,  there  were  the  dividends,  but  Lord  Seming- 
ham had  in  his  haste  forgotten  them. 

"  Ah,  you  don't  know  Ruston,"  said  he,  shaking  a 
forefinger  at  the  great  man. 

"  Don't  I  ?  He  came  every  day  to  my  office  for  a 
fortnight." 

"  Wanted  something  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  wanted  something  certainly,  or  he 
wouldn't  have  come,  you  know." 

"  Got  it,  I  suppose  ?  "  asked  Lord  Semingham,  in 
a  tone  curiously  indicative  of  resignation  rather  than 
triumph. 

"  WTell,  yes ;  I  did,  at  last,  not  without  hesitation, 
accede  to  his  request." 


112  THE   GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

Then  Lord  Semingham,  with  no  apparent  excuse, 
laughed  in  the  face  of  the  great  man,  left  the  House 
(much  in  the  same  sudden  way  as  he  had  left  Queen 
Street,  Cheapside),  and  passed  rapidly  through  the 
lobbies  till  he  reached  Westminster  Hall.  Here  he 
met  a  young  man,  clad  to  perfection,  but  looking  sad. 
It  was  Evan  Haselden.  With  a  sigh  of  relief  at  meet- 
ing no  one  of  heavier  metal,  Semingham  stopped  him 
and  began  to  talk.  Evan's  melancholy  air  enveloped 
his  answers  in  a  mist  of  gloom.  Moreover  there  was 
a  large  streak  on  his  hat,  where  the  nap  had  been 
rubbed  the  wrong  way ;  evidently  he  was  in  trouble. 
Presently  he  seized  his  friend  by  the  arm,  and  pro- 
posed a  walk  in  the  Park. 

"  But  are  you  paired  ?  "  asked  Semingham  ;  for  an 
important  division  was  to  occur  that  day  in  the  Com- 
mons. 

"  No,"  said  Evan  fiercely.  "  Come  along ;  "  and 
Lord  Semingham  went,  exclaiming  inwardly,  "A 
girl ! " 

"  I'm  the  most  miserable  devil  alive,"  said  Evan, 
as  they  left  the  Horse  Guards  on  the  right  hand. 

Semingham  put  up  his  eyeglass. 

"  I've  always  regarded  you  as  the  favourite  of  for- 
tune," he  said.     "  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

The  matter  unfolded  itself  some  half-hour  after 
they  had  reached  the  Row  and  sat  down.  It  came 
forth  with  difficulty;    pride  obstructed    the   passage, 


AN  OPPRESSIVE  ATMOSPHERE,  113 

and  something  better  than  pride  made  the  young  man 
diffuse  in  the  telling  of  his  trouble.  Lord  Seming- 
ham  grew  very  grave  indeed.  Let  who  would  laugh 
at  happy  lovers,  he  had  a  groan  for  the  unfortunate — 
a  groan  with  reservations. 

"  She  said  she  liked  me  very  much,  but  didn't  feel 
— didn't,  you  know,  look  up  to  me  enough,  and  so  on," 
said  poor  Evan  in  puzzled  pain.  "  I — I  can't  think 
what's  come  over  her.  She  used  to  be  quite  different. 
I  don't  know  what  she  means  by  talking  like  that." 

Lord  Semingham  played  a  tune  on  his  knee  with 
the  fingers  of  one  hand.     He  was  waiting. 

"  Young  Val's  gone  back  on  me  too,"  moaned 
Evan,  who  took  the  brother's  deposal  of  him  hardly 
more  easily  than  the  sister's  rejection.  Suddenly  he 
brightened  up;  a  smile,  but  a  bitter  one,  gleamed 
across  his  face. 

"  I  think  I've  put  one  spoke  in  his  wheel,  though," 
he  said. 

"  Huston's  ?  "  inquired  Semingham,  still  playing 
his  tune. 

"  Yes.  A  fortnight  ago,  old  Detchmore "  (Lord 
Detchmore  was  the  very  great  man  before  referred  to) 
"  asked  me  if  I  knew  Loring.  Yrou  know  Ruston's 
been  trying  to  get  Detchmore  to  back  him  up  in  mak- 
ing a  railway  to  Omofaga  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know,"  said  Lord  Semingham,  with  an 
unmoved  face. 


114  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  You're  a  director,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Go  on,  my  dear  boy." 

"  And  Detchmore  had  seen  Loring's  articles.  Well, 
I  took  Tom  to  him,  and  we  left  him  quite  decided  to 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Oh,  by  Jove,  though,  I 
forgot ;  1  suppose  you'd  be  on  the  other  side  there, 
wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  should,  but  it  doesn't  matter." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  I  fancy  Ruston's  got  what  he  wanted  ;  " 
and  Lord  Semingham  related  what  he  had  heard  from 
the  Earl  of  Detchmore. 

Evan  listened  in  silence,  and,  the  tale  ended,  the 
two  lay  back  in  their  chairs,  and  idly  looked  at  the 
passing  carriages.     At  last  Lord  Semingham  spoke. 

"  He's  going  to  Omofaga  in  a  few  months,"  he  ob- 
served. "And,  Evan,  you  don't  mean  that  he's  your 
rival  at  the  Valentines'  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  so  sure,  confound  him.  You  know  how 
pretty  she  is." 

Semingham  knew  that  she  was  pretty ;  but  he  also 
knew  that  she  was  poor,  and  thought  that  she  was,  if 
not  too  insipid  (for  he  recognised  the  unusual  taste  of 
his  own  mind),  at  least  too  immature  to  carry  Willie 
Ruston  off  his  feet,  and  into  a  love  affair  that  prom- 
ised no  worldly  gain. 

"  I  asked  Mrs.  Dennison  what  she  thought,"  pur- 
sued Evan. 


AN   OPPRESSIVE  ATMOSPHERE.  115 

"  Oh,  you  did  ?  " 

"  But  the  idea  seemed  quite  a  new  one  to  her. 
That's  good,  you  know.  I  expect  she'd  have  noticed 
if  he'd  shown  any  signs." 

Lord  Semingham  thought  it  very  likely. 

"Anyhow,"  Evan  continued,  "Marjory's  awfully 
keen  about  him." 

"He'll  be  in  Omofaga  in  three  or  four  months," 
Semingham  repeated.  It  was  all  the  consolation  he 
could  offer. 

Presently  Evan  got  up  and  strode  away.  Lord 
Semingham  sat  on,  musing  on  the  strange  turmoil  the 
coming  of  the  man  had  made  in  the  little  corner  of 
the  world  he  dwelt  in.  He  was  reminded  of  what  was 
said  concerning  Lord  Byron  by  another  poet.  They 
all  felt  Ruston.  His  intrusion  into  the  circle  had 
changed  all  the  currents,  so  that  sympathy  ran  no 
longer  between  old  friends,  and  hearts  answered  to  a 
new  stimulus.  Some  he  attracted,  some  he  repelled ; 
none  did  he  leave  alone.  From  great  to  small  his  in- 
fluence ran ;  from  the  expulsion  of  Tom  Loring  to  the 
christening  of  the  Omofaga  mantle.  Semingham  had 
an  acute  sense  of  the  absurdity  of  it  all,  but  he  had 
seen  absurd  things  happen  too  often  to  be  much  re- 
lieved by  his  intuition.  And  when  absurd  things 
happen,  they  have  consequences  just  as  other  things 
have.  And  the  most  exasperating  fact  was  the  utter 
unconsciousness  of  the  disturber.     He  had  no  mys- 


116  THE  GOD  IN  THE   CAR. 

tery-airs,  no  graces,  no  seeming  fascinations.  He  was 
relentlessly  business-like,  unsentimental,  downright; 
he  took  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course.  He  did  not  pry 
for  weak  spots.  He  went  right  on — on  and  over — 
and  seemed  not  to  know  when  he  was  going  over.  A 
very  Juggernaut  indeed  !  Semingham  thanked  Adela 
for  teaching  him  the  word. 

He  was  suddenly  roused  by  the  merry  laughter  of 
children.  Three  or  four  little  ones  were  scampering 
along  the  path  in  the  height  of  glee.  As  they  came 
up,  he  recognised  them.  He  had  seen  them  once  be- 
fore. They  were  Carlin's  children.  Five  there  were, 
he  counted  now  ;  three  ran  ahead ;  two  little  girls 
held  each  a  hand  of  Willie  Ruston's,  who  was  laugh- 
ing as  merrily  as  his  companions.  The  whole  group 
knew  Semingham,  and  the  eldest  child  was  by  his 
knees  in  a  moment. 

"We've  been  to  the  Exhibition,"  she  cried  exult- 
antly; "and  now  Willie — Mr.  Ruston,  I  mean — is 
taking  us  to  have  ices  in  Bond  Street." 

"  A  human  devil ! "  said  the  astonished  man  to 
himself,  as  Willie  Ruston  plumped  down  beside  him, 
imploring  a  brief  halt,  and  earnestly  asseverating  that 
his  request  was  in  good  faith,  and  concealed  no  lurk- 
ing desire  to  evade  the  ices. 

"  I  met  young  Haselden  as  we  came  along,"  Rus- 
ton observed,  wiping  his  brow. 

"  Ah  !     Yes,  he's  been  with  me." 


AN  OPPRESSIVE  ATMOSPHERE.  H7 

The  children  had  wandered  a  few  yards  off,  and 
stood  impatiently  looking  at  their  hero. 

"  lie's  had  a  bit  of  a  facer,  I  fancy,"  pursued 
Willie  Ruston.     "  Heard  about  it  ?  " 

"  Something." 

"  It'll  come  all  right,  I  should  think,"  said  Rus- 
ton, in  a  comfortably  careless  tone.  "  He's  not  a  bad 
fellow,  you  know,  though  he's  not  over-appreciative  of 
me."  Lord  Semingham  found  no  comment.  "  1 
hear  you're  going  to  Dieppe  next  week  ?  "  asked  Rus- 
ton. 

"Yes.  My  wife  and  Mrs.  Dennison  have  put 
their  heads  together,  and  fixed  on  that.  You  know 
we're  economising." 

Ruston  laughed. 

"  I  suppose  you  are,"  he  said  through  his  white 
teeth.  The  idea  seemed  to  amuse  him.  "  We  may 
meet  there.  I've  promised  to  run  over  for  a  few  days 
if  I  can." 

"  The  deuce  you  have  ! "  would  have  expressed  his 
companion's  feelings ;  but  Lord  Semingham  only 
said,  "  Oh,  really  ?  " 

"  All  right,  I'm  coming  directly,"  Ruston  cried  a 
moment  later  to  his  young  friends,  and,  with  a 
friendlv  nod,  he  rose  and  went  on  his  wav.  Lord 
Semingham  watched  the  party  till  it  disappeared 
through  the  Park  gates,  hearing  in  turn  the  children's 
shrill  laugh  and  Willie  Ruston's  deeper  notes.     The 


118  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

effect  of  the  chance  meeting  was  to  make  his  fancies 
and  his  fancied  feelings  look  still  more  absurd.     That 
he  perceived  at  once ;  the  devil  appeared  so  very  hu- 
man in  such  a  mood  and  such  surroundings.     Yet 
that   attribute  —  that   most   demoniac   attribute  —  of 
ubiquity  loomed  larger  and  larger.     For  not  even  a 
foreign  land — not  even  a  watering-place  of  pronounced 
frivolity — was  to  be  a  refuge.     The  man  was  coming 
to  Dieppe!     And  on  whose  bidding?      Semingham 
had  no  doubt  on  whose  bidding  ;  and,  out  of  the  airy 
forms  of  those  absurd  fancies,  there  seemed  to  rise  a 
more   material   shape,   a  reality,   a   fabric   not   com- 
pounded wholly  of  dreams,  but  mixed  of  stuff  that 
had  made  human  comedies  and  human  tragedies  since 
the  world  began.     Mrs.  Dennison  had  bidden  AVillie 
Ruston  to  Dieppe.     That  was  Semingham's  instant 
conclusion  ;  she  had  bidden  him,  not  merely  by  a  for- 
mal invitation,  or  by  a  simple  acquiescence,  but  by 
the  will  and  determination  which  possessed  her  to  be 
of  his  mind  and  in  his  schemes.     And  perhaps  Evan 
Ilaselden's  innocent  asking  of  her  views  had  carried  its 
weight  also.     For  nearly  an  hour  Semingham  sat  and 
mused.    For  awhile  he  thought  he  would  act ;  but  how 
should  he  act?    And  why?    And  to  what  end  ?     Since 
what  must  be  must,  and  in  vain  do  we  meddle  with  fate. 
An  easy,  almost  eager,  recognition  of  the  inevitable 
in  the  threatened,  of  the  necessary  in  everything  that 
demanded   effort  for  its  avoidance,  had  stamped  his 


AN   OPPRESSIVE  ATMOSPHERE.  HO 

life  and  grown  deep  into  his  mind.  Wherefore  now, 
faced  with  possibilities  that  set  his  nerves  on  edge, 
and  wrung  his  heart  for  good  friends,  he  found  noth- 
ing better  to  do  than  shrug  his  shoulders  and  thank 
God  that  his  own  wife's' submission  to  the  man  went 
no  deeper  than  the  inside  lining  of  that  famous  Omo- 
faga  mantle,  nor  his  own  than  the  bottom,  or  near  the 
bottom,  of  his  trousers'  pocket. 

"  Though  that,  in  faith,"  he  exclaimed  ruefully, 
as  at  last  he  rose,  "  is,  in  this  world  of  ours,  pretty 
deep ! " 


CHAPTER  X. 

a  lady's  bit  of  work. 

The  Dennison  children,  after  a  two  nights'  ban- 
ishment, had  come  down  to  dessert  again.  They  had 
been  in  sore  disgrace,  caused  (it  was  stated  to  Mrs. 
Cormack,  who  had  been  invited  to  dine  enfamille)  by 
a  grave  breach  of  hospitality  and  good  manners  which 
Madge  had  led  the  younger  ones — who  tried  to  look 
plaintively  innocent — into  committing. 

The  Carlin  children  had  come  to  tea,  and  a  great 
dissension  had  arisen  between  the  two  parties.  The 
Carlins  had  belauded  the  generous  donor  of  ices ; 
Madge  had  taken  up  the  cudgels  fiercely  on  Tom 
Loring's  behalf,  and  Dora  and  Alfred  had  backed  her 
up.  Each  side  proceeded  from  praise  of  its  own  fa- 
vourite to  sneers — by  no  means  covert — at  the  other's 
man,  and  the  feud  had  passed  from  the  stage  of  words 
to  that  of  deeds  before  it  was  discovered  by  the  supe- 
rior powers  and  crushed.  On  the  hosts,  of  course, 
the  blame  had  to  fall ;  they  were  sent  to  bed,  while 
the  guests  drove  off  in  triumph,  comforted  by  sweets 


A  LADY'S  BIT  OF   WORK.  121 

and  shillings.  Madge  did  not  think,  or  pretend  to 
think,  that  this  was  justice,  and  her  mother's  recital 
of  her  crimes  to  Mrs.  Cormack,  so  far  from  reducing 
her  to  penitence,  brought  back  to  her  cheeks  and  eyes 
the  glow  they  had  worn  when  she  slapped  (there  is  no 
use  in  blinking  facts)  Jessie  Carlin,  and  told  her  that 
she  hated  Mr.  Ruston.  Madge  Dennison  was  like  her 
mother  in  face  and  temper.  That  may  have  been  the 
reason  why  Harry  Dennison  squeezed  her  hand  under 
the  table,  and  bv  his  tacit  aid  broke  the  force  of  his 
wife's  cold  reproofs.  But  there  was  perhaps  another 
reason  also. 

Mrs.  Cormack  said  that  she  was  shocked,  and 
looked  very  much  amused.  The  little  history  made 
up  for  the  bore  of  having  the  children  brought  in. 
That  was  a  thing  she  objected  to  very  much ;  it 
stopped  all  rational  conversation.  But  now  her  curi- 
osity was  stirred. 

"  Why  don't  you  like  Mr.  Ruston,  my  child  ?  "  she 
asked  Madge. 

"  I  don't  dislike  him,"  said  Madge,  rosy  red,  and 
speaking  with  elaborate  slowness.  She  said  it  as 
though  it  were  a  lesson  she  had  learnt. 

"  But  why,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Cormack,  whirling  her 
hands,  "  beat  the  little  Carlin  ?  " 

"  That  was  before  mamma  told  me,"  answered 
Madge,  the  two  younger  ones  sitting  by,  open- 
mouthed,  to  hear  her  explanation. 


122  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Oh,  what  an  obedient  child  !  How  I  should  have 
liked  a  little  girl  like  you,  darling  ! " 

Madge  hated  sarcasm,  and  her  feelings  towards 
Mrs.  Cormack  reflected  those  of  her  idol,  Tom  Lor- 
ing. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said  curtly ; 
and  then  she  looked  anxiously  at  her  mother. 

But  Mrs.  Dennison  was  smiling. 

"  Let  her  alone,  Berthe,"  she  said.  "  She's  been 
punished,     (rive  her  some  fruit,  Harry." 

Harry  Dennison  piled  up  the  plate  eagerly  held 
out  to  him. 

"  Who'll  give  you  fruit  at  Dieppe?"  he  asked, 
stroking  his  daughter's  hair. 

Mrs.  Cormack  pricked  up  her  ears. 

"  Didn't  we  tell  you  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Dennison. 
"  Harry  can't  come  for  a  fortnight.  That  tiresome 
old  Sir  George  "  (Sir  George  was  the  senior  partner  in 
Dennison,  Sons  &  Company)  "  is  down  with  the  gout, 
and  Harry's  got  to  stay  in  town.  But  I'll  give  Madge 
fruit — if  she's  good." 

"  Papa  gives  it  me  anyhow,"  said  Madge,  who  pre- 
ferred unconditional  benefits. 

Harry  laughed  dolefully.  He  had  been  looking 
forward  to  a  holiday  with  his  children.  Their  unin- 
terrupted society  would  have  easily  consoled  him  for 
the  loss  of  the  moor. 

"  It's   an  awful  bore,"  he  said ;   "  but  there's  no 


A  LADY'S  BIT  OP   WORK.  123 

help   for  it.      Sir   George  can't  put  a  foot   to   the 
ground." 

"  Anyhow,"  suggested  Mrs.  Cormack,  "  you  will  be 
able  to  help  Mr.  Ruston  with  the  Omofaga." 

"Papa,"  broke  out  Madge,  her  face  bright  with  a 
really  happy  idea,  which  must,  she  thought,  meet  with 
general  acceptance,  "since  you  can't  come,  why 
shouldn't  Tom  ?  " 

Mrs.  Cormack  grew  more  amused.  Oh,  it  was 
quite  worth  while  to  have  the  children!  They  were 
so  good  at  saying  things  one  couldn't  say  oneself ;  and 
then  one  could  watch  the  effect.  In  an  impulse  of 
gratitude,  she  slid  a  banana  on  to  Madge's  plate. 

"  Marjory  Valentine's  coming,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison. 
"  You  like  her,  don't  you,  Madge?" 

"  She's  a  girl,"  said  Madge  scornfully ;  and  Harry, 
with  a  laugh,  stroked  her  hair  again. 

"  You're  a  little  flirt,"  said  he. 

"  But  why  can't  Tom  ? "  persisted  Madge,  as  she 
attacked  the  banana.  It  was  Mrs.  Cormack's  gift,  but 
— non  diet. 

For  a  moment  nobody  answered.  Then  Harry 
Dennison  said — not  in  the  least  as  though  he  believed 
it,  or  expected  anybody  else  to  believe  it — 

"  Tom's  got  to  stay  and  work." 

"  Have  all  the  gentlemen  we  know  got  to  stay  and 
work  ?  " 

Harrv  nodded  assent. 


124  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

Mrs.  Cormack  was  leaning  forward.  A  moment 
later  she  sank  back,  hiding  a  smile  behind  her  nap- 
kin ;  for  Madge  observed,  in  a  tone  of  utter  content- 
ment, 

"  Oh,  then,  Mr  Ruston  won't  come ; "  and  she 
wagged  her  head  reassuringly  at  the  open-mouthed 
little  ones.  They  were  satisfied,  and  fell  again  to  eat- 
ing. 

After  a  few  moments,  Mrs.  Dennison,  who  had 
made  no  comment  on  her  daughter's  inference,  swept 
the  flock  off  to  bed,  praying  Berthe  to  excuse  her  tem- 
porary absence.  It  was  her  habit  to  go  upstairs  with 
them  when  possible,  and  Harry  would  see  that  coffee 
came. 

"  Poor  Madge ! "  said  Harry,  when  the  door  was 
shut,  "  what'll  she  say  when  Huston  turns  up?" 

"Then  he  does  go?" 

"  I  think  so.  We'd  asked  him  to  stay  with  us,  and 
though  he  can't  do  that  now,  he  and  young  Walter 
Valentine  talk  of  running  over  for  a  few  days.  I 
hope  they  will." 

Mrs.  Cormack,  playing  with  her  teaspoon,  glanced 
at  her  host  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

"  He  can  go  all  the  better,  as  I  shall  be  here,"  con- 
tinued Harry.     "  I  can  look  after  Omofaga." 

Mrs.  Cormack  rapped  the  teaspoon  sharply  on  her 
cup.  The  man  was  such  a  fool.  Harry,  dimly  recog- 
nising her  irritation,  looked  up  inquiringly;  but  she 


A  LADY'S  BIT  OF   WORK.  125 

hesitated  before  she  spoke.  Would  it  spoil  sport  or 
make  sport  if  she  stirred  a  suspicion  in  him?  A 
thought  threw  its  weight  in  the  balance.  Maggie 
Dennison's  friendship  had  been  a  trille  condescending, 
and  the  grateful  friend  pictured  her  under  the  indig- 
nity of  enforced  explanations,  of  protests,  even  of 
orders  to  alter  her  conduct.  But  how  would  Harry 
take  a  hint?  There  were  men  silly  enough  to  resent 
such  hints.     Caution  was  the  word. 

"  Well,  I  almost  wish  he  wasn't  going,"  she  said  at 
last.  "  For  Maggie's  sake,  I  mean.  She  wants  a 
complete  rest." 

"  Oh,  but  she  likes  him.  He  amuses  her.  Why, 
she's  tremendously  interested  in  Omofaga,  Mrs.  Cor- 
mack." 

"  Ah,  but  he  excites  her  too.  We  poor  women 
have  nerves,  Mr.  Dennison.  It  would  be  much  bet- 
ter for  her  to  hear  nothing  of  Omofaga  for  a  few 
weeks." 

"  Has  she  been  talking  to  you  much  about  it  ?  " 
asked  Harry,  beginning  to  feel  anxious  at  his  guest's 
immensely  solemn  tone. 

Indeed,  little  Mrs.  Cormack  spoke  for  the  nonce 
quite  like  a  family  physician. 

"  Oh,  yes,  about  it  and  him,"  she  replied.  "  She's 
never  off  the  subject.     Mr.  Loring  was  half  right." 

"  Tom's    objections   were   based    on    quite    other 

grounds." 
9 


12G  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Oh,  were  they  really  ?  I  thought — well,  anyhow, 
Mr.  Huston  being  there  will  do  her  no  good.  She'll 
like  it  immensely,  of  course." 

Harry  Denuison  rubbed  his  hand  over  his  chin. 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  she'd 
have  been  better  away  from  everything.  But  I  can't 
object  to  Ruston  going.     I  asked  him  myself." 

"  Yes,  when  you  were  going." 

"  That  makes  no  difference." 

Mrs.  Cormack  said  nothing.  She  tapped  her 
spoon  against  the  cup  once  more. 

"  Why,  we  should  have  talked  all  the  more  about 
it  if  I'd  been  there." 

His  companion  was  still  silent,  her  eyes  turned 
down  towards  the  table.  Harry  looked  at  her  with 
perplexity,  and  when  he  next  spoke,  there  was  a  curi- 
ous appealing  note  in  his  voice. 

"Surely  it  doesn't  make  any  difference?"  he 
asked.     "  What  difference  can  it  make  ?  " 

No  answer  came.  Mrs.  Cormack  laid  down  the 
spoon  and  sat  back  in  her  chair. 

"  You  mean  there'll  be  no  one  to  make  a  change 
for  her — to  distract  her  thoughts?" 

Mrs.  Cormack  flung  her  hands  out  with  an  air  of 
impatience. 

"  Oh,  I  meant  nothing,"  said  she  petulantly. 

The  clock  seemed  to  tick  very  loud  in  the  silence 
that  followed  her  words. 


A   LADY'S   BIT   OP   WORK.  127 

"  I  wish  I  could  go,"  said  Harry  at  last,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  could,  Mr.  Dennison ; "  and  as 
she  spoke  she  raised  her  eyes,  and,  for  the  first  time, 
looked  full  in  his  face. 

Harry  rose  from  his  chair;  at  the  same  moment 
his  wife  re-entered  the  room.  He  started  a  little  at 
the  sight  of  her. 

She  held  a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  Mr.  Huston  will  be  at  Dieppe  on  the  15th  with 
Walter  Valentine,"  she  said,  referring  to  it.  "  Give 
me  some  coffee,  Harry." 

He  poured  it  out  and  gave  it  to  her,  saying, 

"  A  letter  from  Huston  ?     Let's  see  what  he  says." 

"  Oh,  there's  nothing  else,"  she  answered,  laying  it 
beside  her. 

Mrs.  Oormack  sat  looking  on. 

"  May  I  see  ?  "  asked  Harry  Dennison. 

"  If  you  like,"  she  answered,  a  little  surprised ; 
and,  turning  to  Mrs.  Cormack,  she  added,  "  Mr.  Rus- 
ton's  a  man  of  few  words  on  paper." 

"Ah,  he  makes  every  word  mean  something,  I 
expect,"  returned  that  lady,  who  was  quite  capable  of 
the  same  achievement  herself,  and  exhibited  it  in  this 
very  speech. 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  the  postscript  ? — '  Have 
you  found  another  kingdom  yet?'"  asked  Harry, 
with  a  puzzled  frown. 


128  THE  GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

"  It's  a  joke,  dear." 

"  But  what  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Harry,  I  can't  explain  jokes." 

Harry  laid  the  note  down  again. 

"  It's  a  joke  between  ourselves,"  Mrs.  Dennison 
went  on.  "  I  oughtn't  to  have  shown  you  the  letter. 
Come,  Berthe,  we'll  go  upstairs." 

And  Mrs.  Cormack  had  no  alternative  but  to  obey. 

Left  alone,  Harry  Dennison  drew  his  chair  up  to 
the  hearthrug.  There  was  no  fire,  but  he  acted  as 
though  there  were,  leaning  forward  with  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  and  gazing  into  the  grate.  He  felt  hurt 
and  disconsolate.  His  old  grievance — that  people  left 
him  out — was  strong  upon  him.  He  had  delighted  in 
the  Omofaga  scheme,  because  he  had  been  in  the  in- 
side ring  there — because  he  was  of  importance  to  it — 
because  it  showed  him  to  his  wife  as  a  mover  in  great 
affairs.  And  now — somehow — he  seemed  to  be  being 
pushed  outside  there  too.  What  was  this  joke  be- 
tween themselves?  At  Dieppe  they  would  have  all 
that  out;  he  would  not  be  in  the  way  there.  Then 
he  did  not  understand  what  Berthe  Cormack  would 
be  at.  She  had  looked  at  him  so  curiously.  He  did 
not  know  what  to  make  of  it,  and  he  wished  that 
Tom  Loring  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace. 
Then  he  could  ask  him  all  about  it.  Tom  !  Why, 
Turn  had  looked  at  him  almost  in  the  same  way  as 
Berthe  Cormack  had — just  when  he  was  wringing  Lis 


A   LADY'S   BIT  OF    WORK.  129 

hand  in  farewell.  No,  it  was  not  the  same  way — and 
yet  in  part  the  same.  Tom's  look  had  pity  in  it,  and 
no  derision.  Mrs.  Cormack's  derision  was  but  touched 
with  pity.  Yet  both  seemed  to  ask,  "  Don't  you 
see  ?  "  See  what  ?  Why  had  Tom  gone  away  ?  He 
could  rely  on  Tom.  See  what  ?  There  was  nothing 
to  see. 

He  sat  longer  than  he  meant.  It  was  past  ten 
when  he  went  upstairs.  Mrs.  Cormack  had  gone,  and 
his  wife  was  in  an  armchair  by  the  open  window. 
He  came  in  softly  and  surprised  her  with  her  head 
thrown  back  on  the  cushions  and  a  smile  on  her  lips. 
And  the  letter  was  in  her  hands.  Hearing  his  step 
when  he  was  close  by  her,  she  sat  up,  letting  the  note 
fall  to  the  ground. 

"What  a  time  you've  been!  Berthe's  gone. 
Were  you  asleep  ?  " 

"No.  I  was  thinking;  Maggie,  I  wish  I  could 
come  to  Dieppe  with  you." 

"  Ah,  I  wish  you  could,"  said  she  graciously. 
"  But  you're  left  in  charge  of  Omofaga." 

She  spoke  as  though  in  that  charge  lay  consolation 
more  than  enough. 

"  I  believe  you  care— I  mean  you  think  more  about 
Omofaga  than  about " 

"  Anything  in  the  world  ?  "  she  asked,  in  playful 
mockery. 

"  Than  about  me,"  he  went  on  stubbornly. 


130  THE   GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Than  about  your  coming  to  Dieppe,  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  than  about  me,"  he  repeated. 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  My  dear  man,"  said  she,  taking  his  hand, 
"  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  You  do  wish  I  could  come  ?  " 

"  Must  I  say  ? "  smiled  Mrs.  Dennison.  "  For 
shame,  Harry !  You  might  be  on  your  honey- 
moon." 

He  moved  away,  and  flung  himself  into  a  chair. 

"  I  don't  think  it's  fair  of  Ruston,"  he  broke  out, 
*'  to  run  away  and  leave  it  all  to  me." 

"  Why,  you  told  him  you  could  do  it  perfectly  ! 
I  heard  you  say  so." 

"  How  could  I  say  anything  else,  when — when " 

"  And  originally  you  were  both  to  be  away  !  Af- 
ter all,  you're  not  stopping  because  of  Omofaga,  but 
because  Sir  George  has  got  the  gout." 

Harry  Dennison,  convicted  of  folly,  had  no  an- 
swer, though  he  was  hurt  that  he  should  be  con- 
victed out  of  his  wife's  mouth.  He  shuffled  his  feet 
about  and  began  to  whistle  dolefully. 

Mrs.  Dennison  looked  at  him  with  smothered  im- 
patience. Their  little  boy  behaved  like  that  when  he 
was  in  a  naughty  mood — when  he  wanted  the  moon, 
or  something  of  that  kind,  and  thought  mother  and 
nurse  cruel  because  it  didn't  come,     Mrs.  Dennison 


A  LADY'S  BIT   OF   WORK.  131 

forgot  that  mother  and  nurse  were  fate  to  her  little 
boy,  or  she  might  have  sympathised  with  his  naughty 
moods  a  little  better. 

She  rose  now  and  walked  slowly  over  to  her  hus- 
band. She  had  a  hand  on  his  chair,  and  was  about  to 
speak,  when  he  stopped  his  whistling  and  jerked  out 
abruptly, 

"  What  did  he  mean  about  the  kingdom  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dennison's  hand  slid  away  and  fell  by  her 
side.  Harry  caught  her  look  of  cold  anger.  He 
leapt  to  his  feet. 

"  Maggie,  I'm  a  fool,"  he  cried.  "  I  don't  know 
what's  wrong  with  me.     Sit  down  here." 

He  made  her  sit,  and  half-crouched,  half-knelt  be- 
side her. 

"  Maggie,"  he  went  on,  "  are  you  angry  ?  Damn 
the  joke  !  I  don't  want  to  know.  Are  you  sorry 
I'm  not  coming?" 

"  What  a  baby  you  are,  Harry  !  Oh,  yes,  awfully 
sorry." 

He  knew  so  well  what  he  wanted  to  say :  he 
wanted  to  tell  her  that  she  was  everything  to  him, 
that  to  be  out  of  her  heart  was  death :  that  to  feel 
her  slipping  away  was  a  torture :  he  wanted  to  woo 
and  win  her  over  again — win  her  more  truly  than  he  . 
had  even  in  those  triumphant  days  when  she  gave 
herself  to  him.  He  wanted  to  show  her  that  he  un- 
derstood her — that  he  was  not   a  fool — that  he  was 


132  THE  GOD  IN   THE   CAR. 

man  enough  for  her  !  Yes,  that  she  need  not  turn  to 
Euston  or  anybody  else.  Oh,  yes,  he  could  under- 
stand her,  really  he  could. 

Not  a  word  of  it  would  come.  He  dared  not  be- 
gin :  he  feared  that  he  would  look — that  she  would 
find  him — more  silly  still,  if  he  began  to  say  that  sort 
of  thing.  She  was  smiling  satirically  now — indul- 
gently but  satirically,  and  the  emphasis  of  her  pur- 
posely childish  "  awfully  "  betrayed  her  estimation  of 
his  question.  She  did  not  understand  the  mood. 
She  was  accustomed  to  his  admiration  —  worship 
would  hardly  be  too  strong  a  word.  But  the  implied 
demand  for  a  response  to  it  seemed  strange  to  her. 
Her  air  bore  in  upon  him  the  utter  difference  between 
his  thoughts  of  her  and  the  way  she  thought  about 
him.  Always  dimly  felt,  it  had  never  pressed  on  him 
like  this  before. 

"  Really,  I'm  very  sorry,  dear,"  she  said,  just  a  lit- 
tle more  seriously.  "But  it's  only  a  fortnight.  We're 
not  separating  for  ever,"  and  her  smile  broke  out 
again. 

With  a  queer  feeling  of  hopelessness,  he  rose  to 
his  feet.  No,  he  couldn't  make  her  feel  it.  He  had 
suffered  in  the  same  way  over  his  speeches;  he 
couldn't  make  people  feel  them  either.  She  didn't 
understand.  It  was  no  use.  He  began  to  whistle 
again,  staring  out  of  the  open  window. 

"  I  shall  go  to  bed,  Harry.     Via   tired.     I've  been 


A  LADY'S  BIT  OF   WORK.  133 

seeing  that  the  maid's  packed  what  I  wanted,  and  it's 
harder  work  than  packing  oneself." 

"  Give  me  a  kiss,  Meg,"  he  said,  turning  round. 

She  did  not  do  that,  but  she  accepted  his  kiss,  and 
lie,  turning  away  abruptly,  shaped  his  lips  to  resume 
his  tune.  But  now  the  tune  wouldn't  come.  His 
wife  left  him  alone.  The  tune  came  when  she  was 
there.  Now  it  wouldn't.  Ah,  but  the  words  would. 
He  muttered  them  inaudibly  to  himself  as  he  stood 
looking  out  of  the  window.  They  sounded  as  though 
they  must  touch  any  woman's  heart.  With  an  oath 
he  threw  himself  on  to  the  sofa,  trying  now  to  banish 
the  haunting  words — the  words  that  would  not  come 
at  his  call,  and  came,  in  belated  uselessness,  to  mock 
him  now.  He  lay  still ;  and  they  ran  through  his 
head.  At  last  they  ceased ;  but,  before  he  could 
thank  God  for  that,  a  strange  sense  of  desolation  came 
over  him.  He  looked  round  the  empty,  silent  room, 
that  seemed  larger  now  than  in  its  busy  daylight 
hours.  The  house  was  all  still ;  there  might  have 
been  one  lying  dead  in  it.  It  might  have  been  the 
house  of  a  man  who  had  lost  his  wife. 


CHAPTER  XL 

AGAINST  HIS   COMING. 

"  The  great  Napoleon  once  observed " 

"Don't  quote  from  'Anecdotes,  New  and  Old,'" 
interrupted  Adela  unkindly. 

"That  when  his  death  was  announced,"  pursued 
Lord  Semingham,  who  thought  it  good  for  Adela  to 
take  no  notice  of  such  interruptions,  "everybody 
would  say  Oaf.  I  say  'Oiif'  now,"  and  he  stretched 
his  arms  luxuriously  to  their  full  length.  "  There's 
room  here,"  he  added,  explaining  the  gesture. 

"  Well,  who's  dead  ?  "  asked  Adela,  choosing  to  be 
exasperatingly  literal. 

"  Nobody's  dead  ;  but  a  lot  of  people — and  things 
— are  a  long  way  off." 

"  That's  not  so  satisfactorily  final,"  said  Adela. 

"  No,  but  it  serves  for  the  time.  Did  vou  see  me 
on  my  bicycle  this  morning  ?  " 

"  What,  going  round  here  ?  "  and  Adela  waved  her 
hand  circularly,  as  though  embracing  the  broad  path 
that  runs  round  the  grass  by  the  sea  at  Dieppe. 

(134) 


AGAINST   HIS  COMING.  135 

"  Yes — just  behind  a  charming  Parisienne  in  a 
pair  of — behind  a  charming  Parisienne  in  an  ap- 
propriate costume." 

"  Bessie  must  get  one,"  said  Adela. 

"  Good  heavens  !  " 

"  I  mean  a  bicycle." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  if  she  likes ;  but  she'd  as  soon 
mount  Salisbury  Spire." 

"  How  did  you  learn  ?  " 

"I  really  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Semingham, 
"  but  the  fact  is — Ruston  taught  me." 

"  Let's  change  the  subject,"  said  Adela,  smiling. 

"  A  charming  child,  this  Marjory  Valentine,"  ob- 
served Semingham.  "  She's  too  good  for  young  Evan. 
I'm  very  glad  she  wouldn't  have  him." 

"  I'm  not." 

"You're  always  sorry  other  girls  don't  marry. 
Heaven  knows  why." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  she  didn't  take  Evan." 

"Why?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you." 

"  Not — not  the  forbidden  topic  ?  " 

"  I  half  believe  so." 

"  But  she's  here  with  Maggie  Dennison." 

"  Well,  everybody  doesn't  chatter  as  you  do,"  said 
Adela  incisively. 

"I   don't  believe  it.     She Hallo!  here  she 

is!" 


136  THE   GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

Marjory  Valentine  came  along,  bending  her  slim 
figure  a  little,  the  better  to  resist  a  fresh  breeze  that 
blew  her  skirts  out  behind  her,  and  threatened  to 
carry  off  her  broad-brimmed  hat.  She  had  been  bath- 
ing ;  the  water  was  warm,  and  her  cheeks  glowed  with 
a  fine  colour.  As  she  came  up,  both  Adela  and  Lord 
Semingham  put  on  their  eyeglasses. 

"  An  uncommon  pretty  girl,"  observed  the  latter. 

"  Isn't  it  glorious  ?  "  cried  Marjory,  yet  several  yards 
away.    "  Walter  will  enjoy  the  bathing  tremendously." 

"  When's  he  coming  ?  " 

"  Saturday,"  answered  Marjory.  "  Where  is  Lady 
Semingham  ?  " 

"Dressing,"  said  Semingham  solemnly.  "Cos- 
tume number  one,  off  at  11.30.  Costume  number  two, 
on  at  12.  Costume  number  two,  off  at  3.30.  Cos- 
tume  " 

"  After  all,  she's  your  wife,"  said  Adela,  in  tones  of 
grave  reproach. 

"  But  for  that,  I  shouldn't  have  a  word  to  say 
against  it.     Women  are  very  queer  reasoners." 

Marjory  sat  down  next  to  Adela. 

"  Women  do  waste  a  lot  of  time  on  dress,  don't 
they?  "  she  asked,  in  a  meditative  tone ;  "  and  a  lot  of 
thought,  too ! " 

"Hallo!"  exclaimed  Lord  Semingham. 

"  I  mean,  thought  they  might  give  to  really  im- 
portant things.     You  can't  imagine  George  Elliot " 


AGAINST  HIS  COMING.  137 

"  What  about  Queen  Elizabeth  ? "  interrupted 
Semingham. 

"  She  was  a  horrible  woman,"  said  Adela. 

"  Phryne  attached  no  importance  to  it,"  added 
Semingham. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot !  Tell  me  about  her,"  cried  Mar- 
jory. 

"  A  strong-minded  woman,  Miss  Marjory." 

"  He's  talking  nonsense,  Marjory." 

"  I  supplied  a  historical  instance  in  Miss  Valen- 
tine's favour." 

"  I  shall  look  her  up,"  said  Marjory,  at  which  Lord 
Semingham  smiled  in  quiet  amusement.  He  was  a 
man  who  saw  his  joke  a  long  way  off,  and  could  wait 
patiently  for  it. 

"  Yes,  do,"  he  said,  lighting  a  cigarette. 

Adela  had  grown  grave,  and  was  watching  the 
girl's  face.  It  was  a  pretty  face,  and  not  a  silly  one  ; 
and  Marjory's  blue  eyes  gazed  out  to  sea,  as  though 
she  were  looking  at  something  a  great  way  off.  Adela, 
with  a  frown  of  impatience,  turned  to  her  other  neigh- 
bour. She  would  not  be  troubled  with  aspirations 
there.  In  fact,  she  was  still  annoyed  with  her  young 
friend  on  Evan  Haselden's  account.  But  it  was  no 
use  turning  to  Lord  Semingham.  His  eyes  were 
more  than  half-closed,  and  he  was  beating  time  gently 
to  the  Casino  band,  audible  in  the  distance.  Adela 
sighed.     At  last  Marjory  broke  the  silence. 


138  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  When  Mr.  Ruston  comes,"  she  began,  "  I  shall 
ask  him  whether " 

The  sentence  was  not  finished. 

"  When  who  comes  ?  "  cried  Adela  ;  and  Seming- 
ham  opened  his  eyes  and  stilled  his  foot-pats. 

"  Mr.  Ruston." 

"  Is  he  coming  after  all  ?  I  thought,  now  that 
Dennison " 

"  Oh,  yes — he's  coming  with  Walter.  Didn't  you 
know  ?  " 

"  Is  he  coming  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.     Aren't  you  glad  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  from  Adela,  and  "  Oh,  uncommonly," 
from  Lord  Semingham,  seemed  at  first  sight  answers 
satisfactory  enough ;  but  Marjory's  inquiring  gaze 
rested  on  their  faces. 

"  Come  for  a  stroll,"  said  Adela  abruptly,  and  pass- 
ing her  arm  through  Marjory's,  she  made  her  rise. 
Semingham,  having  gasped  out  his  conventional  reply, 
sat  like  a  man  of  stone,  but  Adela,  for  all  that  it  was 
needless,  whispered  imperatively,  "  Stay  where  you 
are." 

"  Well,  Marjory,"  she  went  on,  as  they  began  to 
walk,  "  I  don't  know  that  I  am  glad  after  all." 

"  I  believe  you  don't  like  him." 

"  I  believe  I  don't,"  said  Adela  slowly.  It  was  a 
point  she  had  not  yet  quite  decided. 

"I  didn't  use  to." 


AGAINST  HIS  COMING.  139 

"  Bat  you  do  now  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Adcla  hated  the  pregnant  brevity  of  this  affirma- 
tive. 

"  Mamma  doesn't,"  laughed  Marjory.  "  She's  so 
angry  with  him  carrying  off  Walter.  As  if  it  wasn't  a 
grand  thing  for  Walter  !  So  she's  quite  turned  round 
about  him." 

"  He's  not  staying  in—  with  you,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  Though  I  don't  see  why  he  shouldn't. 
Conventions  are  so  stupid,  aren't  they  ?  Mrs.  Denni- 
son's  there,"  and  Marjory  looked  up  with  an  appeal  to 
calm  reason  as  personified  in  Adela. 

At  another  time,  nineteen's  view  of  twenty-nine — 
Marjory's  conception  of  Maggie  Deunison  as  a  suffic- 
ing chaperon — would  have  amused  Adela.  But  she 
was  past  amusement.  Her  patience  snapped,  as  it 
Avere,  in  two.  She  turned  almost  fiercely  on  her 
companion,  forgetting  all  prudence  in  her  irrita- 
tion. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  child,  what  do  you  mean  ? 
Do  you  think  he's  coming  to  see  you  ?  " 

Marjory  drew  her  arm  out  from  Adela's,  and  re- 
treated a  step  from  her. 

"  Adela  !    I  never  thought "     She  did  not  end, 

conscious,  perhaps,  that  her  flushed  face  gave  her 
words  the  lie.     Adela  swept  on. 

"  You  !     He's  not  coming  to  see  you.     I  don't  be- 


140  THE   GOD   IN  THE   CAR. 

lieve  he's  coming  to  see  anyone — no,  not  even  Maggie 
— I  mean  no  one,  at  all." 

The  girl's  look  marked  the  fatal  slip. 

"  Oh  ! "  she  gasped,  just  audibly. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  cares  that  for  any  of  us — for 
anyone  alive.  Marjory,  I  didn't  mean  what  I  said 
about  Maggie,  I  didn't  indeed.  Don't  look  like  that. 
Oh,  what  a  stupid  gild  you  are  !  "  and  she  ended  with,  a 
half-hysterical  laugh. 

For  some  moments  they  stood  facing  one  another, 
saying  nothing.  The  meaning  of  Adela's  words  was 
sinking  into  Marjory's  mind. 

"  Let's  walk  on.  People  will  wonder,"  said  she  at 
last ;  and  she  enlaced  Adela's  arm  again.  After  an- 
other long  pause,  during  which  her  face  expressed  the 
turmoil  of  her  thoughts,  she  whispered, 

"  Adela,  is  that  why  Mr.  Loring  went  away  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  why  he  went  away." 

"  You  think  me  a  child,  so  you  say  you  don't  mean 
it  now.  You  do  mean  it,  you  know.  You  wouldn't 
say  a  thing  like  that  for  nothing.  Tell  me  what  you 
do  mean,  Adela."  It  was  almost  an  order.  Adda 
suddenly  realised  that  she  had  struck  down  to  a 
force  and  a  character.  "Tell  me  exactly  what  you 
mean,"  insisted  Marjory ;  "  you  ought  to  tell  me, 
Adela." 

Adela  found  herself  obeying. 

"  I  don't  know  about  him  ;  but  I'm  afraid  of  her," 


AGAINST  HIS  COMING.  141 

she  stammered,  as  if  confessing  a  shameful  deed  of 
her  own.  A  moment  later  she  broke  into  entreaty. 
"  Go  away,  dear.  Don't  get  mixed  up  in  it.  Don't 
have  anything  to  do  with  him." 

"  Do  you  go  away  when  your  friends  are  in  trouble 
or  in  danger  ?  " 

Adela  felt  suddenly  small — then  wise — then  small 
because  her  wisdom  was  of  a  small  kind.  Yet  she 
gave  it  utterance. 

"  But,  Marjory,  think  of— think  of  yourself.  If 
you " 

"  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say.  If  I  care  for 
him?  I  don't.  I  hardly  know  him.  But,  if  I  did,  I 
might — I  might  be  of  some  use.  And  are  you  going 
to  leave  her  all  alone  ?  I  thought  you  Avere  her 
friend.  Are  you  just  going  to  look  on  ?  Though  you 
think — what  you  think  ! " 

Adela  caught  hold  of  the  girl's  hands.  There  was 
a  choking  in  her  throat,  and  she  could  say  nothing. 

"  But  if  he  sees  ?  "  she  murmured,  when  she  found 
speech. 

"  He  won't  see.  There's  nothing  to  see.  I  shan't 
show  it.  Adela,  I  shall  stay.  Why  do  you  think 
what — what  you  think  ?  " 

People  might  wonder,  if  they  would — perhaps  they 

did — Avhen   Adela    drew   Marjory   towards    her,   and 

kissed  her  lips. 

"  I  couldn't,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  but,  if  you  can, 
10 


14:2  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

for  heaven's  sake  do.     I  may  be  wrong,  but — I'm  un- 
easy." 

Marjory's  lips  quivered,  but  she  held  her  head 
proudly  up ;  then  she  sobbed  a  short  quick-stifled  sob, 
and  then  smiled. 

"  I  daresay  it's  not  a  bit  true,"  she  said. 

Adela  pressed  her  hand  again,  saying, 

"  I'm  an  emotional  old  creature." 

"  Why  did  Mr.  Loring  go  away?"  demanded  Mar- 
jory. 

"  I  don't  know.     He  thought  it " 

"  Best  ?     Well,  he  was  wrong." 

Adela  could  not  hear  Tom  attacked. 

"  Maggie  turned  him  out,"  she  said — which  ac- 
count of  the  matter  was,  perhaps,  just  a  little  one- 
sided, though  containing  a  part  of  the  truth.  Mar- 
jory meditated  on  it  for  a  moment,  Adela  still  covertly 
looking  at  her.  The  discovery  was  very  strange. 
Ilalf-an-hour  ago  she  had  smiled  because  the  girl 
hinted  a  longing  after  something  beyond  frocks,  and 
had  laughed  at  her  simple  acceptance  of  Semingham's 
joke.  Now  she  found  herself  turning  to  her,  looking 
to  her  for  help  in  the  trouble  that  had  puzzled  her. 
In  her  admiration  of  the  girl's  courage,  she  forgot  to 
wonder  at  her  intuition,  her  grasp  of  evil  possibilities, 
tin-  knowledge  of  Maggie  Dennison  that  her  resolve 
implied.  Adela  watched  her,  as,  their  farewell  said, 
she  walked,  first  quickly,  then  very  slowly,  towards 


AGAINST   HIS   (OMING.  1  |;j 

the  villa  which  Mrs.  Dennison  had  hired,  on  the  cliff- 
Bide,  near  the  old  Castle.  Then,  with  a  last  sigh,  she 
put  up  her  parasol  and  sauntered  back  to  the  Hotel 
de  Rome.  Costume  number  two  would  be  on  by  now, 
and  Bessie  Semingham  ready  for  luncheon. 

Marjory,  finally  sunk  into  the  slow  gait  that  means 
either  idleness  or  deep  thought,  made  her  way  up  to 
the  villa.  With  every  step  she  drew  nearer,  the  bur- 
den she  had  taken  up  seemed  heavier.  It  was  not  sor- 
row for  the  dawning  dream  that  the  storm-cloud  had 
eclipsed  that  she  really  thought  of.  But  the  task 
loomed  large  in  its  true  difficulty,  as  her  first  enthu- 
siasm spent  itself.  If  Adela  were  right,  what  could 
she  do?  If  Adela  were  wrong,  what  unpardonable 
offence  she  might  give.  Ah,  was  Adela  right? 
Strange  and  new  as  the  idea  was,  there  was  an  unques- 
tioning conviction  in  her  manner  that  Marjory  could 
hardly  resist.  Save  under  the  stress  of  a  conviction, 
speech  on  such  a  matter  would  have  been  an  impossi- 
ble crime.  And  Marjory  remembered,  with  a  sinking 
heart,  Maggie  Dennison's  smile  of  happy  triumph 
when  she  read  out  the  lines  in  which  Euston  told  of 
his  coming.  Yes,  it  was,  or  it  might  be,  true.  But 
where  lay  her  power  to  help  ? 

Coming  round  the  elbow  of  the  rising  path,  she 
caught  sight  of  Maggie  Dennison  sitting  in  the  gar- 
den. Mrs.  Dennison  wore  white;  her  pale,  clear-cut 
profile  was  towards  Marjory ;  she  rested  her  chin  on 


144  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

her  hand,  and  her  elbow  on  her  knee,  and  she  was 
looking  on  the  ground.  Softly  Marjory  drew  near. 
An  unopened  letter  from  Harry  lay  on  a  little  table ; 
the  children  had  begun  their  mid-day  meal  in  the 
room,  whose  open  window  was  but  a  few  feet  behind  ; 
Mrs.  Dennison's  thoughts  were  far  away.  Marjory 
stopped  short.  A  stronger  buffet  of  fear,  a  more  over- 
whelming sense  of  helplessness,  smote  her.  She  un- 
derstood better  why  Adela  had  been  driven  to  do 
nothing — to  look  on.  She  smiled  for  an  instant;  the 
idea  put  itself  so  whimsically ;  but  she  thought  that, 
had  Mrs.  Dennison  been  walking  over  a  precipice,  it 
would  need  all  one's  courage  to  interfere  with  her. 
She  would  think  it  such  an  impertinence.  And  Hus- 
ton ?  Marjory  saw,  all  in  a  minute,  his  cheerful 
scorn,  his  unshaken  determination,  his  rapid  dismissal 
of  one  more  obstacle.  She  drew  in  her  breath  in  a 
long  inspiration,  and  Mrs.  Dennison  raised  her  eyes 
and  smiled. 

"  I  believe  I  felt  you  there,"  she  said,  smiling.   "  At 
least,  I  began  to  think  of  you." 

Marjory  sat  near  her  hostess. 

"  Did  you  meet  anyone?"  asked  Mrs.  Dennison. 

"  Adela  Ferrars  and  Lord  Semingham." 

"  Well,  had  they  anything  to  say?  " 

"  No — I  don't  think  so,"  she  answered  slowly. 

"What   should    they  have   to  say   in    this  place? 
The  children  have  begun.     Aren't  you  hungry?" 


AGAINST   HIS   COMING.  145 

"  Not  very." 

"  Well,  I  am,"  and  Mrs.  Dennison  arose.  "  I  for- 
got it,  but  I  am." 

"  They  didn't  k,now  Mr.  Rustou  was  coming." 

"Didn't  they?"  smiled  Mrs.  Dennison.  "And 
has  Adela  forgiven  you  ?  Oh,  you  know,  the  poor  boy 
is  a  friend  of  hers,  as  he  is  of  mine." 

"  We  didn't  talk  about  it." 

"  And  you  don't  want  to  ?  Very  well,  we  won't. 
See,  here's  a  long  letter — it's  very  heavy,  at  least — 
from  Harry.     I  must  read  it  afterwards." 

"  Perhaps  it's  to  say  he  can  come  sooner." 

"  I  expect  not,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison,  and  she  opened 
the  letter.  "  No ;  a  fortnight  hence  at  the  soonest," 
she  announced,  after  reading  a  few  lines. 

Marjory  was  both  looking  and  listening  closely, 
but  she  detected  neither  disappointment  nor  relief. 

"  He's  seen  Tom  Loring  !  Oh,  and  Tom  sends  me 
his  best  remembrances.  Poor  Tom  !  Marjory,  does 
Adela  talk  about  Mr.  Loring  ?  " 

"  She  mentioned  him  once." 

"  She  thinks  it  was  all  my  fault,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Dennison.  "  A  woman  always  thinks  it's  a  woman's 
fault ;  at  least,  that's  our  natural  tendency,  though 
we're  being  taught  to  overcome  it.  Marjory,  you 
look  dull !  It  will  be  livelier  for  you  when  your 
brother  and  Mr.  Ruston  come." 

The  hardest  thing  about  great  resolves  and  lofty 


140  THE   GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

moods  is  their  intermixture  with  everyday  life.  The 
intervals,  the  "  waits,"  the  mass  of  irrelevant  triviali- 
ties that  life  iuartistically  mingles  with  its  drama, 
Hinging  down  pell-mell  a  heap  of  great  and  small — 
these  cool  courage  and  make  discernment  distrust 
itself.  Mrs.  Dennison  seemed  so  quiet,  so  placid,  so 
completely  the  affectionate  but  not  anxious  wife,  the 
kind  hostess,  and  even  the  human  gossip,  that  Mar- 
jory wanted  to  rub  her  eyes,  wondering  if  all  her 
heroics  were  nonsense — a  girl's  romance  gone  wrong. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  eat  and  drink,  and 
talk  and  lounge  in  the  sun — there  was  no  hint  of  a 
drama,  no  call  for  a  rescue,  no  place  for  a  sacrifice. 
And  Marjory  had  heen  all  aglow  to  begin.  Uer  face 
grew  dull  and  her  eyelids  half-dropped  as  she  leant 
her  head  on  the  back  of  her  chair. 

"  Dejeuner  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Dennison  merrily.  "  And 
this  afternoon  we're  all  going  to  gamble  at  petits  <■//<•- 
vaux,  and  if  we  win  we're  going  to  buy  more  Omo- 
fagas.     There's  a  picture  of  a  speculator's  family  !  " 

"  Mr.  Dcnnison's  not  a  speculator,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  depends  on  what  you  mean.  Anyhow,  I 
am  ;  "  and  Mrs.  Dennison,  waving  her  letter  in  the  air 
and  singing  softly,  almost  danced  in  her  merry  walk 
to  the  house.  Then,  crying  her  last  words,  "  Be 
quick  !"  from  the  door,  she  disappeared. 

A  moment  later  she  was  laughing  and  chattering 
to  her  children.     Marjory  heard  her  burlesque  com- 


AGAINST   HIS   COMING.  147 

plaints  over  the  utter  disappearance  of  an  omelette 
she  had  set  her  heart  upon. 

That  afternoon  they  all  played  at  pctits  chevaux, 
and  the  only  one  to  win  was  Madge.  But  Madge 
utterly  refused  to  invest  her  gains  in  Omofagas.  She 
assigned  no  reasons,  stating  that  her  mother  did  not 
like  her  to  declare  the  feeling  which  influenced  her, 
and  Mrs.  Dennison  laughed  again.  But  Adela  Fer- 
rars  would  not  look  towards  Marjory,  but  kept  her 
eyes  on  an  old  gentleman  who  had  been  playing  also, 
and  playing  with  good  fortune.  He  had  looked  round 
curiously  when,  in  the  course  of  the  chaff,  they  had 
mentioned  Omofaga,  and  Adela  detected  in  him  the 
wish  to  look  again.  She  wondered  who  he  was,  scru- 
tinising his  faded  blue  eyes  and  the  wrinkles  of  weari- 
ness on  his  brow.  Willie  Ruston  could  have  told  her. 
It  was  Baron  von  Geltschmidt  of  Frankfort. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IT   CAN    WAIT. 

In  all  things  evil  and  good,  to  the  world,  and— a 
thing  quite  rare— to  himself,  Willie  Ruston  was  an 
unaffected  man.  Success,  the  evidence  of  power  and 
the  earnest  of  more  power,  gave  him  his  greatest  pleas- 
ure, and  he  received  it  with  his  greatest  and  most 
open  satisfaction.  It  did  not  surprise  him,  but  it 
elated  him,  and  his  habit  was  to  conceal  neither  the 
presence  of  elation  nor  the  absence  of  surprise.  That 
irony  in  the  old  sense,  which  means  the  well-bred 
though  hardly  sincere  depreciation  of  a  man's  own 
qualities  and  achievements,  was  not  his.  When  he 
had  done  anything,  he  liked  to  dine  with  his  friends 
and  talk  it  over.  He  had  been  sharing  the  Carlins' 
unfashionable  six  o'clock  meal  at  Hampstead  this 
evening,  and  had  taken  the  train  to  Baker  Street,  and 
was  now  sauntering  home  with  a  cigar.  lie  had  talked 
the  whole  thing  over  with  them.  Carlin  had  said 
that  no  one  could  have  managed  the  affair  so  well  as 
he  had,  and  Mrs.  Carlin  had  not  once  referred  to  that 

(148) 


IT  CAN    WAIT.  149 

lost  tabula  in  naufragio,  the  coal  business.  Yes,  his 
attack  on  London  had  been  a  success.  He  had  known 
nothing  of  London,  save  that  its  denizens  were  human 
beings,  and  that  knowledge,  whether  in  business  or 
society,  had  boon  enough.  His  great  scheme  was 
floated ;  a  few  months  more  would  see  him  in  Omo- 
faga ;  there  was  money  to  last  for  a  long  time  to 
come  ;  and  he  had  been  cordially  received  and  even 
made  a  lion  of  in  the  drawing-rooms.  They  would 
look  for  his  name  in  tbe  papers  ("  and  find  it,  by 
Jove,"  he  interpolated).  Men  in  high  places  would 
think  of  him  when  there  was  a  job  to  be  "put 
through ; "  and  women,  famous  in  regions  inacces- 
sible to  the  vulgar,  would  recollect  their  talks  with 
Mr.  Ruston.  Decidedly  they  were  human  beings,  and 
therefore,  raw  as  he  was  (he  just  knew  that  he  had 
come  to  them  a  little  raw),  he  had  succeeded. 

Yet  they  were,  some  of  them,  strange  folk.  There 
were  complications  in  them  which  he  found  it  neces- 
sary to  reconnoitre.  They  said  a  great  many  things 
which  they  did  not  think,  and,   en  revanche,  would 

often  only  hint  what  they  did.     And But  here  he 

yawned,  and,  finding  his  cigar  out,  relit  it.  He  was 
not  in  the  mood  for  analysing  his  acquaintance.  He 
let  his  fancy  play  more  lightly.  It  was  evening,  and 
work  was  done.  He  liked  London  evenings.  He  had 
liked  bandying  repartees  with  Adela  Ferrars  (though 
she  had  been  too  much  for  him  if  she  could  have 


150  THE  GOD  IN   THE  CAR. 

kept  her  temper)  ;  lie  liked  talking  to  Marjory  Val- 
entine and  seeing  her  occupied  with  his  ideas.  Most 
of  all,  he  liked  trying  to  catch  Maggie  Dennison's 
thought  as  it  flashed  out  for  a  moment,  and  fled 
to  shelter  again.  He  had  laughed  again  and  again 
over  the  talk  that  Tom  Loring  had  interrupted — and 
not  less  because  of  the  interruption.  There  was  little 
malice  in  him,  and  he  bore  no  grudge  against  Tom. 
Even  his  anger  at  the  Omofaga  articles  had  been 
chiefly  for  public  purposes  and  public  consumption. 
It  was  always  somebody's  "  game  "  to  spoil  his  game, 
and  one  must  not  quarrel  with  men  for  playing  their 
own  hands.  Tom  amused  him,  and  had  amused  him, 
especially  by  his  behaviour  over  that  talk.  No  doubt 
the  position  had  looked  a  strange  one.  Tom  had 
been  so  shocked.  Poor  Tom,  it  must  be  very  serious 
to  be  so  easily  shocked.  Mr.  Huston  was  not  easily 
shocked. 

Unaffected,  free  from  self-consciousness,  undi- 
videdly  bent  on  his  schemes,  unheeding  of  everything 
but  their  accomplishment,  he  had  spent  little  time  in 
considering  the  considerable  stir  which  he  had,  in 
fact,  created  in  the  circle  of  his  more  intimate  as- 
sociates. They  had  proved  pliable  and  pleasant,  and 
these  were  the  qualities  he  liked  in  his  neighbours. 
They  said  agreeable  things  to  him,  and  they  did  what 
he  wanted.  He  had  stayed  not  (save  once,  and  half 
in  jest,  with  Maggie  Dennison)  to  inquire  why,  and 


IT  CAN  WAIT.  151 

the  quasi-real,  quasi-burlesque  apprehension  of  him — 
burlesqued  perhaps  lest  it  should  seem  too  real — 
which  had  grown  up  among  such  close  observers  as 
Adela  Ferrars  and  Semingham,  would  have  struck 
him  as  absurd,  the  outcome  of  that  idle  business  of 
brain  which  weaves  webs  of  line  fancies  round  the 
obvious,  and  loses  the  power  of  action  in  the  fascina- 
tion of  self -created  puzzles.  The  nuances  of  a  wom- 
an's attraction  towards  a  man,  whether  it  be  admira- 
tion, or  interest,  or  pass  beyond — whether  it  be  liking 
and  just  not  love — or  interest  running  into  love — or 
love  masquerading  as  interest,  or  what-not,  Willie 
Ruston  recked  little  of.  He  was  a  man,  and  a  young 
man.  He  liked  women  and  clever  wonren — yes,  and 
handsome  women.  But  to  spend  your  time  thinking 
of  or  about  women,  or,  worse  still,  of  or  about  what 
women  thought  of  you,  seemed  poor  economy  of  pre- 
cious days — amusing  to  do,  maybe,  in  spare  hours, 
inevitable  now  and  again — but  to  be  driven  or  laughed 
away  when  there  was  work  to  be  done. 

Such  was  the  colour  of  his  floating  thoughts,  and 
the  loose-hung  meditation  brought  him  to  his  own 
dwelling,  in  a  great  building  which  overlooked  Hyde 
Park.  He  lived  high  up  in  a  small,  irregular,  many- 
cornered  room,  sparely-furnished,  dull  and  pictureless. 
The  only  thing  hanging  on  the  walls  was  a  large  scale 
map  of  Omofaga  and  the  neighbouring  territories  ;  in 
lieu  of  nicnacks  there  stood  on  the  mantlepiece  lumps 


152  TIIE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

of  ore,  specimens  from  the  mines  of  Omofaga  (would 
not  these  convince  the  most  obstinate  unbeliever?), 
and  half-smothered  by  ill-dusted  papers,  a  small  pho- 
tograph of  Rnston  and  a  potent  Omofagan  chief  seated 
on  the  ground  with  a  large  piece  of  paper  before  them 
— a  treaty  no  doubt.  A  well-worn  sofa,  second-hand 
and  soft,  and  a  deep  arm-chair  redeemed  the  place 
from  utter  comfortlessness,  but  it  was  plain  that 
beauty  in  his  daily  surroundings  was  not  essential  to 
Willie  Ruston.     lie  did  not  notice  furniture. 

He  walked  in  briskly,  but  stopped  short  with  his 
hand  still  on  the  knob  of  the  door.  Harry  Dennison 
lay  on  the  sofa,  with  his  arm  flung  across  his  face. 
He  sprang  up  on  Ruston's  entrance. 

"  Hullo  !  Been  here  long?  I've  been  dining  with 
Carlin,"  said  Ruston,  and,  going  to  a  cupboard,  he 
brought  out  Avhisky  and  soda  water. 

Harry  Dennison  began  to  explain  his  presence. 
In  the  first  place  he  had  nothing  to  do;  in  the  second 
he  wanted  someone  to  talk  to;  in  the  third — at  last 
he  blurted  it  out — the  first,  second,  third  and  only 
reason  for  his  presence. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  can  manage  alone  in  town,"  he 
said. 

"Not  manage?  There's  nothing  to  do.  And 
('.ill iii's  here." 

"  You  see  I've  got  other  work  besides  Omofaga," 
pleaded  Harry. 


IT  CAN   WAIT.  153 

"Oil,  I  know  Dcnnisons  have  lots  of  irons  in  the 
fire.  But  Omofaga  won't  trouble  you.  I've  told  Car- 
lin  to  wire  me  if  any  news  comes,  and  I  can  be  back 
in  a  few  hours." 

Harry  had  come  to  suggest  that  the  expedition  to 
Dieppe  should  be  abandoned  for  a  week  or  two.  He 
got  no  chance  and  sat  silent. 

"  It's  all  done,"  continued  Huston.  "  The  stores 
are  all  on  their  way.  Jackson  is  waiting  for  them 
on  the  coast.  Why,  the  train  will  start  inland  in  a 
couple  of  months  from  now.  They'll  go  very  slow 
though.     I  shall  catch  them  up  all  right." 

Harry  brightened  a  little. 

"  Belford  said  it  was  uncertain  when  you  would 
start,"  he  said. 

"  It  may  be  uncertain  to  Belford,  it's  not  to  me," 
observed  Mr.  Buston,  lighting  his  pipe. 

The  speech  sounded  unkind ;  but  Mr.  Belford's 
mind  dwelt  in  uncertainty  contentedly. 

"  Then  you  think  of ?  " 

"  My  dear  Dennison,  I  don't '  think '  at  all.  To- 
day's the  12th  of  August.  Happen  what  may,  I  sail 
on  the  10th  of  November.  Nothing  will  keep  me 
after  that — nothing." 

"  Belford  started  for  the  Engadine  to-day." 

"  Well,  he  won't  worry  you  then.  Let  it  alone,  my 
dear  fellow.     It's  all  right." 

Clearly  Mr.  Euston  meant  to  go  to  Dieppe.     That 


154  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

was  now  to  Harry  Denuison  bad  news ;  but  he  meant 
to  go  to  Omofaga  also,  and  to  go  soon ;  that  was  good. 
Harry,  however,  had  still  something  that  he  wished  to 
convey — a  bit  of  diplomacy  to  carry  out. 

"  I  hope  you'll  find  Maggie  better,"  he  began. 
"  She  was  rather  knocked  up  when  she  went." 

"A  few  days  will  have  put  her  all  right,"  re- 
sponded Ruston  cheerfully. 

He  was  never  ill  and  treated  fatigue  with  a  cheery 
incredulousness.  But,  at  least,  he  spoke  with  an  utter 
absence  of  undue  anxiety  on  the  score  of  another 
man's  wife. 

Harry  Dennison,  primed  by  Mrs.  Cormack's  sug- 
gestions, went  on, 

"  I  wish  you'd  talk  to  her  as  little  as  you  can  about 
Omofaga.  She's  very  interested  in  it,  you  know,  and 
— and  very  excitable — and  all  that.  We  want  her 
mind  to  get  a  complete  rest." 

"  Hum.  I  expect,  then,  I  mustn't  talk  to  her  at 
all." 

The  manifest  impossibility  of  making  such  a  re- 
quest did  not  prevent  Harry  yearning  after  it. 

"  I  don't  ask  that,"  he  said,  smiling  weakly. 

"  It  won't  hurt  her,"  said  Willie  Ruston.  "  And 
she  likes  it." 

She  liked  it  beyond  question. 

"It  tires  her,"  Harry  persisted.  "  It — it  gets  on 
her  nerves.     It  absorbs  her  too  much." 


IT  CAN   WAIT.  155 

His  face  was  turned  up  to  Ruston.  As  he  spoke 
the  last  words,  Ruston  directed  his  eyes,  suddenly  and 
rapidly,  upon  him.  Harry  could  not  escape  the  en- 
counter of  eyes ;  hastily  he  averted  his  head,  and  his 
face  Hushed.  Ruston  continued  to  look  at  him,  a 
slight  smile  on  his  lips. 

"Absorbs  her?"  he  repeated  slowly,  fingering  his 
beard. 

"  Well,  you  know  what  I  mean." 

Another  long  stare  showed  Ruston's  meditative 
preoccupation.  Harry  sat  uncomfortable  under  it, 
wishing  he  had  not  let  fall  the  word. 

"Well,  I'll  be  careful,"  said  Ruston  at  last. 
"Anything  else  ?  " 

Harry  rose.  Ruston  carried  an  atmosphere  of 
business  about  with  him,  and  the  visit  seemed  natu- 
rally to  end  with  the  business  of  it.  Taking  his  hat, 
Harry  moved  towards  the  door.  Then,  pausing,  he 
smiled  in  an  embarrassed  way,  and  remarked, 

"  You  can  talk  to  Marjory  Valentine,  you 
know." 

"  So  I  can.     She's  a  nice  girl." 

Harry  twirled  his  hat  in  his  fingers.  His  brain 
had  conceived  more  diplomacy. 

"  It'll  be  a  fine  chance  for  you  to  win  her  heart," 
he  suggested  with  a  tentative  laugh. 

"  I  might  do  worse,"  said  Willie  Ruston. 

"  You  might — much  worse,11  said  Harry  eagerly. 


15G  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Aren't  you  rather  giving  away  your  friend  young 
Haselden  ?  " 

"  Who  told  you,  Huston  ?  " 

"  Lady  Val.     Who  told  you  ?  " 

"  Semingharn." 

"  Ah  !  Well,  what  would  Haselden  say  to  your 
idea  ?  " 

"  Well,  she  won't  have  him — he's  got  no  chance 
anyhow." 

"  All  right.     I'll  think  about  it.     Good-night." 

He  watched  his  guest  depart,  but  did  not  accom- 
pany him  on  his  way,  and,  left  alone,  sat  down  in  the 
deep  arm-chair.  His  smile  was  still  on  his  lips.  Poor 
Harry  Dennison  was  a  transparent  schemer — one  of 
those  whose  clumsy  efforts  to  avert  what  they  fear 
effects  naught  save  to  suggest  the  doing  of  it.  Yet 
Willie  Huston's  smile  had  more  pity  than  scorn  in  it. 
True,  it  had  more  of  amusement  than  of  either.  He 
could  have  taken  a  slate  and  written  down  all  Harry's 
thoughts  during  the  interview.  But  whence  had 
come  the  change?  Why  had  Dennison  himself 
bidden  him  to  Dieppe,  to  come  now,  a  fortnight 
later,  and  beg  him  not  to  go?  Why  did  he  now 
desire  his  wife  to  hear  no  more  of  Omofaga,  whose 
chief  delight  in  it  had  been  that  it  caught  her  fancy 
and  imparted  to  him  some  of  the  interest  she  found 
in  it?  Ruston  saw  in  the  transformation  the  working 
of  another  mind. 


IT  CAN   WAIT.  157 

"Somebody's  been  putting  it  into  his  head,"  he 
muttered,  still  half-amused,  but  now  half-angry  also. 

And,  with  his  usual  rapidity  of  judgment,  he 
darted  unhesitatingly  to  a  conclusion.  He  identified 
the  hand  in  the  business ;  he  recognised  whose  more 
subtle  thoughts  Harry  Dennison  had  stumbled  over 
and  mauled  in  his  painful  devices.  But  to  none  is  it 
given  to  be  infallible,  and  want  of  doubt  does  not 
always  mean  absence  of  error.  Forgetting  this  com- 
monplace truth,  Willie  Huston  slapped  his  thigh, 
leapt  up  from  his  chair  and,  standing  on  the  rug, 
exclaimed, 

"  Loring — by  Jove  !  " 

It  was  clear  to  him.  Loring  was  his  enemy ;  he 
had  displaced  Loring.  Loring  hated  him  and  Omo- 
faga.  Loring  had  stirred  a  husband's  jealousy  to 
further  his  own  grudge.  The  same  temper  of  mind 
that  made  his  anger  fade  away  when  he  had  arrived  at 
this  certainty,  prevented  any  surprise  at  the  discovery. 
It  was  natural  in  man  to  seek  revenge,  to  use  the 
nearest  weapon,  to  counter  stroke  with  stroke,  not  to 
throw  away  any  advantages  for  the  sake  of  foibles  of 
generosity.  So,  then,  it"  was  Loring  who  bade  him 
not  go  to  Dieppe,  who  prayed  him  to  not  to  "  absorb" 
Mrs.  Dennison  in  Omofaga,  who  was  ready,  notwith- 
standing his  hatred  and  distrust,  to  see  him  the  lover 
of  Marjory  Valentine  sooner  than  the  too  engrossing 

friend  of  Mrs.  Dennison  !     What    a   fool    they  must 
11 


158  THE  GOD  IN  TIIE  CAR. 

think  him  ! — and,  with  this  reflection,  he  put  the  whole 
mutter  out  of  his  head.  It  could  wait  till  he  was  at 
Dieppe,  and,  taking  hold  of  the  great  map  by  the 
roller  at  the  bottom,  he  drew  it  to  him.  Then  he 
reached  and  lifted  the  lamp  from  the  table,  and  set  it 
high  on  the  mantlepiece.  Its  light  shone  now  on  his 
path,  and  with  his  finger  he  traced  the  red  line  that 
ran,  curving  and  winding,  inwards  from  the  coast, 
till  it  touched  the  blue  letters  of  the  "  Omofaga"  that 
sprawled  across  the  map.  The  line  ended  in  a  cross 
of  red  paint.  The  cross  was  Fort  Imperial — was  to 
be  Fort  Imperial,  at  least ;  but  Willie  Ruston's  mind 
overleapt  all  difference  of  tenses,  lie  stood  and  looked, 
pulling  hard  and  fast  at  his  pipe.  He  was  there — 
there  in  Fort  Imperial  already — far  away  from  Lon- 
don and  London  folk — from  weak  husbands  and  their 
causes  of  anxiety — from  the  pleasing  recreations  of 
fascinating  society,  from  the  covert  attacks  of  men 
whose  noses  he  had  put  out  of  joint.  lie  forgot  them 
all;  their  feelings  became  naught  to  him.  What 
mattered  their  graces,  their  assaults,  their  weal  or 
woe?  He  was  in  Omofaga,  carving  out  of  its  rock  a 
stable  scat,  carving  on  the  rock  face,  above  the  seat, 
a  name  that  should  live. 

At  last  he  turned  away,  flinging  his  empty  pipe 
on   the  table  and  dropping  the  map  from  his  hand. 

"  I  shall  go  to  bed,"  he  said.  "  Three  months 
more  of  it !" 


IT  CAN   WAIT.  159 

And  to  bed  ho  went,  never  having  thought  once 
during  the  whole  evening  of  a  French  lady,  who 
liked  to  get  amusement  out  of  her  neighbours,  and 
had  stayed  in  town  on  purpose  to  have  some  more 
talks  with  Harry  Dennison.  Had  Willie  Kuston  not 
been  quite  so  sure  that  he  read  Tom  Loring's  character 
aright,  he  might  have  spared  a  thought  for  Mrs.  Cor- 
mack. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A    SPASM    OF    PENITENCE. 

Tom  Loring  had  arranged  to  spend  the  whole  of 
the  autumn  in  London.  His  Omofaga  articles  had 
gained  such  favourable  notice  that  his  editor  had 
engaged  him  to  contribute  a  series  dealing  with 
African  questions  and  African  companies  (and  the 
latter  are  in  the  habit  of  producing  the  former),  while 
he  was  occupied,  on  his  own  account,  at  the  British 
Museum,  in  making  way  with  a  treatise  of  a  politico- 
philosophical  description,  which  had  been  in  his  head 
for  several  years.  He  hailed  with  pleasure  the 
prospect  of  getting  on  with  it;  the  leisure  afforded 
him  by  his  departure  from  the  Dennisons  was,  in  its 
way,  a  consolation  for  the  wrench  involved  in  the 
parting.  Could  he  have  felt  more  at  ease  about  the 
course  of  events  in  his  absence,  he  would  have  endured 
his  sojourn  in  town  with  equanimity. 

Of  course,  the  place  was  fast  becoming  a  desert, 
but,  at  this  moment,  chance,  which  always  objects  to 
our  taking    things    for   granted,  brought  a   carriage 

.100) 


A  SPASM   OF    PENITENCE.  161 

exactly  opposite  the  bench  on  which  Tom  was  seated, 
and  he  heard  his  name  called  in  a  high-pitched  voico 
that  he  recognised.  Looking  up,  he  saw  Mrs.  Cor- 
mack  leaning  over  the  side  of  her  victoria,  smiling 
effusively  and  beckoning  to  him.  That  everyone 
should  go  save  Mrs.  Cormack  seemed  to  Tom  the 
irony  of  circumstance.  With  a  mutter  to  himself,  he 
rose  and  walked  up  to  the  carriage.  He  then  per- 
ceived, to  his  surprise,  that  it  contained,  hidden 
behind  Mrs.  Oormack's  sleeves — sleeves  were  large 
that  year — another  inmate.  It  was  Evan  Haselden, 
and  he  greeted  Tom  with  an  off-hand  nod. 

"  The  good  God,"  cried  Mrs.  Cormack,  "  evidently 
kept  me  here  to  console  young  men !  Are  you  left 
desolate  like  Mr.  Haselden  here  ?  " 

"  Well,  it's  not  very  lively,"  responded  Tom,  as 
amiably  as  he  could. 

"No,  it  isn't,"  she  agreed,  with  the  slightest, 
quickest  glance  at  Evan,  who  was  staring  moodily  at 
the  tops  of  the  trees. 

Tom  laughed.  The  woman  amused  him  in  spite 
of  himself.  And  her  failures  to  extract  entertain- 
ment from  poor  heart-broken  Evan  struck  him  as 
humorous. 

"  But  I'm  at  work,"  he  went  on,  "  so  I  don't 
mind." 

"  Ah !     Are  you  still  crushing ?  " 

"  No,"  interrupted  Tom  quickly.     "  That's  done." 


1G2  THE  GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

"  I  should  not  have  guessed  it,"  said  Mrs.  Cor- 
mack,  opening  her  eyes. 

"  I  mean,  I've  finished  the  articles  on  that  point." 

"  That  is  rather  a  different  thing,"  laughed  she. 

"  I'm  afraid  so,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  it  wasn't ! "  ejaculated  Evan 
suddenly,  without  shifting  his  gaze  from  the  tree- 
tops. 

"  Oh,  he  is  very  very  bad,"  whispered  Mrs.  Cor- 
mack.     "Poor  young  man!     Are  you  bad  too?" 

«  Eh  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  know." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  don't,"  said  Tom. 

Suddenly  Evan  rose,  opened  the  carriage  door,  got 
out,  shut  it,  and  lifted  his  hat. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Mrs.  Cormack,  smiling  merrily. 

"  Good-bye.  Thanks,"  said  Evan,  with  unchanged 
melancholy,  and,  with  another  nod  to  Tom,  he  walked 
round  to  the  path  and  strode  quickly  away. 

"  How  absurd  !  "  said  she. 

"  Not  at  all.  I  like  to  see  him  honest  about  it. 
lie's  hard  hit — and  he's  not  ashamed  of  it." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Cormack,  shrugging  the 
subject  away  in  weariness  of  it.  "And  how  do  you 
.stand  banishment?    Will  you  get  in?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  won't  assume " 

"  Too  great  familiarity,  Mr.  Loring?" 

"Oh,  I  was  only  going  to  say — with  my  affairs. 


A  SPASM   OF  PENITENCE.  1G3 

With  me— I  should  be  charmed,"  and  Tom  settled 
himself  in  the  victoria. 

lie  had,  now  he  came  to  think  of  it,  been  really 
very  much  bored;  and  the  little  woman  was  quite  a 
resource. 

She  rewarded  his  ironical  gallantry  with  a  look 
that  told  him  she  took  it  for  what  it  was  worth,  but 
liked  it  all  the  same ;  and,  after  a  pause,  asked, 

"  And  you  see  Mr.  Dennison  often  ?" 

"  Very  seldom,  on  the  contrary.  I  don't  know 
what  he  does  with  himself." 

"  The  poor  man  !  He  walks  up  and  down.  I 
hear  him  walking  up  and  down." 

"  What  does  he  do  that  for  ?  " 

"Ah!    what?      Well,  he   cannot  be   happy,   can 

he?" 

"  Can't  he  ?  "  said  Tom,  determined  to  understand 
nothing. 

"  You  are  very  discreet,"  she  said,  with  a  malicious 
smile. 

"  I'm  obliged  to  be.     Somebody  must  be." 
"Mr.  Loring,"  she  said  abruptly,  "you  don't  like 
me,  neither  you  nor  Miss  Ferrars." 

"  I  never  answer  for  others.     For  myself " 

"  Oh,  I  know.  W^hat  does  it  matter  ?  Well,  any- 
how, I'm  sorry  for  that  poor  man." 

"  Your  sympathy  is  very  ready,  Mrs.  Cormack." 
"  You  mean  it  is  too  soon — premature?" 


104  THE  GOD  IN  THE   CAR. 

"  I  mean  it's  altogether  unnecessary,  to  my  hum- 
ble thinking." 

"  But  I'm  not  a  fool,"  she  protested. 

Tom  could  not  help  laughing.  The  laugh,  how- 
ever, rather  spoilt  his  argument. 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,"  he  conceded,  conscious 
of  his  error,  and  trying  to  cover  it  by  a  burlesque  sur- 
render.    "  lie's  miserable." 

"  Well,  he  is." 

There  was  a  placid  certainty  about  her  that  dis- 
turbed Tom's  attitude  of  incredulity. 

"  Why  is  he  ?  "  he  asked  curiously. 

"  I  have  talked  to  him.  I  know,"  she  answered, 
with  a  nod  full  of  meaning. 

"  Oh,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he — well,  do  you  want  to  hear,  or  will 
you  be  angry  and  despise  me  as  you  used  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  hear." 

"What  did  I  use  to  say?  That  the  man  would 
come  ?     Well,  he  has  come.      Voila  tout !  " 

"  Oh,  so  you  say.  But  Harry  doesn't  think  such — 
I  beg  pardon,  I  was  about  to  say,  nonsense." 

"  Yes,  he  does.     At  least,  he  is  afraid  of  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you,  we  have  talked.  And  I  saw.  He  al- 
most cried  that  he  couldn't  go  to  Dieppe,  and  that 
somebody  else " 

Tom  suddenly  turned  upon  her. 


A  SPASM   OP   PENITENCE.  105 

"  Who  began  the  talk  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  What  do  you  say?" 

"Who  began?" 

"  Oh,  what  nonsense!  Who  does  begin  to  talk? 
How  do  I  know  ?    It  came,  Mr.  Loring." 

Tom  said  nothing. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  didn't  believe  me,"  she  re- 
marked, pouting. 

"  I  don't.  He's  the  most  unsuspicious  fellow 
alive." 

"  Well,  if  you  like,  I  began.  I'm  not  ashamed. 
But  I  said  very  little.  When  he  asked  me  if  I  thought 
it  good  that  she  and — the  other — should  be  together 
out  there  and  he  here — well,  was  I  to  say  yes  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  observed  Tom,  in  quiet  and  deliberate 
tones,  "  that  it's  a  great  pity  that  some  women  can't 
be  gagged." 

"  They  can,  but  only  with  kisses,"  said  Mrs.  Cor- 
mack,  not  at  all  offended.  "  Oh,  don't  be  frightened. 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  gagged  at  all.  If  I  did — there  is 
more  than  one  man  in  the  world." 

Tom  despised  and  half-hated  her  ;  but  he  liked 
her  good-nature,  and,  in  his  heart,  admired  her  for  not 
flinching.  Her  shamelessness  was  crossed  with  cour- 
age. 

"  So  you've  made  him  miserable  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  might  say,  I,  a  wicked  Frenchwoman, 
that  it  is  better  to  be  deceived  than  to  be  wretched. 


1(56  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

But  you,  an  Englishman !     Oh,  never,  Mr.  Lor- 


mg 


Tom  sat  silent  a  little  while. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  he  said,  half  in  reverie. 

"  Who  thought  you  would?"  asked  Mrs.  Cormack, 
unkindly. 

"  I  believe  it's  all  a  mare's  nest." 

"  That  means  a  mistake,  a  delusion  ?  " 

"  It  does." 

"  Then  I  don't  think  you  do  believe  it.  And,  if 
you  do,  you  are  wrong.  It  is  not  all  a — a  mare's 
nest." 

She  pronounced  the  word  with  unfamiliar  delicate- 
ness. 

Tom  knew  that  he  did  not  believe  that  it  was  all 
a  mare's  nest.  He  would  have  given  everything  in 
the  world — save  one  thing — and  that,  he  thought,  he 
had  not  got — to  believe  it. 

"Then,  if  you  believed  it,  why  didn't  you  do 
something?"  he  asked  rather  fiercely. 

"What  have  you  all  done?  I,  at  least,  warned 
him.  '  Yes,  since  you  insist,  I  hinted  it.  But  you — 
you  ran  away;  and  your  Adela  Ferrars,  she  looks 
prim  and  pained,  oh!  and  shocked,  and  doesn't  come 
so  much." 

It  was  a  queer  source  to  learn  lessons  from,  and 
Tom  was  no  less  surprised  than  Adela  had  been  a 
day  or  two  before  at  Dieppe. 


A  SPASM  OF  PENITENCE.  107 

"What  should  you  do?"  he  asked,  in  new-born 
humility. 

"  1  ?    Nothing.     What  is  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  What  should  you  do,  if  you  were  me  ?  " 

"  Make  love  to  her  myself,"  smiled  Mrs.  Cormack. 
She  was  having  her  revenge  on  Tom  for  many  a  scorn- 
ful speech. 

"  If  you'd  held  your  tongue,  it  would  all  have 
blown  over  !  "  he  exclaimed  in  exasperation. 

"It  will  blow  over  still ;  but  it  will  blow  first,"  she 
said.     "  If  that  contents  you,  hold  your  tongue." 

Then  she  turned  to  Tom,  and  laid  a  small  fore- 
finger on  his  arm. 

"  Mark  this,"  said  she,  "  he  does  not  care  for  her. 
He  cares  for  himself ;  she  is — what  would  you  say '? 
an  incident — an  accident — I  do  not  know  how  to  say 
it — to  him." 

"  Well,  if  you're  right  there "  began  Tom  in 

some  relief. 

"  If  I'm  right  there,  it  will  make  no  difference — 
at  first.  But,  as  you  say,  it  will  blow  over — and 
sooner." 

Tom   looked   at   her,   and    thought,   and    looked 


again. 


"  By  Jove,  you're  not  a  fool,  Mrs.  Cormack,"  said 
he,  almost  under  his  breath. 
Then  he  added,  louder, 
"  It's  the  wisdom  of  the  devil." 


1G8  THE   GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

"Oh,  you  surpass  yourself,"  she  smiled.  "Your 
compliments  are  magnificent." 

"  You  must  have  learnt  it  from  him." 

"  Oh,  no.  From  my  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Cor- 
mack. 

The  carriage,  which  during  their  talk  had  moved 
slowly  round  the  circle,  stopped  again. 

Mrs.  Cormack  turned  to  Tom.  He  was  already 
looking  at  her. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  he. 

"No?  Well,  you'll  hardly  believe  it,  but  that 
does  not  surprise  me." 

"  I'm  not  sure  you  don't  mean  well,  if  you  weren't 
ashamed  to  confess  it,"  said  Tom. 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  known  her,  she 
blushed  and  looked  embarrassed.  Then  she  began,  in 
a  quick  tone, 

"  Well,  I  talked.  I  wanted  to  see  how  he  took  it; 
and  it  amused  me.  And — well,  our  dear  Maggie — she 
is  so  very  magnificent  at  times.  She  looks  down  so 
calmly — oh  !  from  such  a  height — on  one.  She  had 
told  me  that  day — well,  never  mind  that ;  it  was  true, 
I  daresay.  I  don't  love  truth.  I  don't  see  what  right 
people  have  to  say  things  to  me,  just  because  one 
may  know  they  are  true." 

"  So  you  made  a  little  mischief  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  hear  that  poor  man  walking  up  and 
down.     I  want  to  comfort  him.     I  asked  him  to  come 


A  SPASM  OF  PENITENCE.  1G0 

in,  and  he  refused.  Then  I  offered  to  go  in — he  was 
very  frightened.  Oh,  wow  Dieu!"  and  she  laughed 
almost  hysterically. 

This  very  indirect  confession  proved  in  the  end  to 
be  all  that  Mrs.  Corraack's  penitence  could  drive  her 
to,  and  Tom  left  her,  feeling  a  little  softened  towards 
her,  but  hardly  better  equipped  for  action.  What, 
indeed,  could  be  done?  Tom's  sense  of  futility  ex- 
pressed itself  in  a  long  letter  to  Adela  Ferrars.  As 
he  had  no  suggestions  for  present  action,  he  took 
refuge  in  future  promises. 

"  It  will  be  very  awkward  fo,r  me  to  come,  but  if, 
as  time  goes  on,  you  think  I  should  be  any  good,  I 
will  come." 

And  Adela,  when  she  read  it,  was  tempted  to  send 
for  him  on  the  spot ;  he  would  have  been  of  no  use, 
but  he  would  have  comforted  her.  But  then  his  pres- 
ence would  unquestionably  exasperate  Maggie  Denni- 
son.     Adela  decided  to  wait. 

Now,  by  the  time  Tom  Loring's  letter  reached 
Dieppe,  young  Sir  Walter  and  Willie  Ruston  were  on 
the  boat,  and  they  arrived  hard  on  its  heels.  They 
took  up  their  abode  at  a  hotel  a  few  doors  from  where 
the  Seminghams  were  staying,  and  Walter  at  once 
went  round  to  pay  his  respects. 

Ruston  stayed  in  to  write  letters.  So  he  said  ;  but 
when  he  was  alone  he  stood  smoking  at  the  window 
and  looking  at  the  people  down  below.     Presently,  to 


170  THE   GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

his  surprise,  he  saw  the  same  old  gentleman  whom 
Adela  had  noticed  in  the  Casino. 

"  The  Baron,  by  Jove  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Now, 
what  brings  him  here  ?  " 

The  Baron  was  sauntering  slowly  by,  wrapped  in  a 
cloak,  and  leaning  heavily  on  a  malacca  cane.  In  a 
moment  Willie  Huston  was  down  the  stairs  and  after 
him. 

Hearing  his  name  cried,  the  Baron  stopped  and 
turned  round. 

"What  chance  brings  you  here?"  asked  Willie, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  hardly  chance,"  said  the  Baron.  "  I  always 
go  to  some  seaside  place,  and  I  thought  I  might  meet 
friends  here,"  and  he  smiled  significantly. 

"Yes,"  said  Rnston,  after  a  pause;  "I  believe  I 
did  mention  it  in  Threadneedle  Street.  I  went  in 
there  the  other  day." 

By  the  general  term  Threadneedle  Street  he  meant 
to  indicate  the  offices  of  the  Baron's  London  corre- 
spondents, which  were  situate  there. 

"  They  keep  you  informed,  it  seems?  " 

"  I  live  by  being  kept  informed,"  said  the  Baron. 

Huston  was  walking  by  him,  accommodating  his 
pace  to  the  old  man's  feeble  walk. 

"  You  mean  you  came  to  see  me?"  he  asked. 

"  Well,  if  you'll  forgive  the  liberty — in  part." 

"And  why  did  you  want  me?" 


A  SPASM   OF   PENITENCE.  171 


"  Oli,  I've  not  lost  all  interest  in  Omofaga. 

"  No,  you  haven't,"  said  Huston.  "  On  the  con- 
trary, you've  been  increasing  your  interest." 

The  Baron  stopped  and  looked  at  him. 

"Oh,  you  know  that?" 

"  Certainly." 

The  Baron  laughed. 

"  Then  you  can  tell  me  whether  I  shall  lose  my 
money,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  ever  lose  your  money,  Baron  ?  " 

"But  am  I  to  hear  about  Omofaga?"  asked  the 
Baron,  countering  question  by  question. 

"  As  much  as  you  like,"  answered  Ruston,  with  the 
indifference  of  perfect  candour. 

"  Ah,  by  the  way,  I  have  heard  about  it  already. 
Who  are  the  ladies  here  who  talk  about  it?  " 

Willie  Euston  gave  a  careful  catalogue  of  all  the 
persons  in  Dieppe  who  were  interested  in  the  Omofaga 
Company.  The  Baron  identified  the  Seminghams  and 
Adela.     Then  he  observed, 

"And  the  other  lady  is  Mrs.  Dennison,  is  she?" 

"  She  is.  I'm  going  to  her  house  to-morrow. 
Shall  I  take  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  charmed." 

"  Very  well.     To-morrow  afternoon." 

"  And  you'll  dine  with  me  to-night  ?  " 

Euston  was  about  to  refuse ;  but  the  Baron  added, 
half  seriously, 


172  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  I've  come  a  long  way  to  see  you." 

"  All  right,  I'll  come,"  lie  said.  Then  he  paused  a 
moment,  and  looked  at  the  Baron  curiously.  "And 
perhaps  you'll  tell  me  then,"  he  added. 

"  Why  I've  come  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  why  you've  been  buying.  You  were 
bought  out.  What  do  you  want  to  come  in  again 
for  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  that  now,"  said  the  Baron.  "  I've 
come  because  I  thought  I  should  like  to  see  some  more 
of  you ;  and  I've  been  buying  because  I  fancy  you'll 
make  a  success  of  it." 

Willie  Ruston  pulled  his  beard  thoughtfully. 

"  Don't  you  believe  me  ?  "  asked  the  Baron. 

"  Let's  wait  a  bit,"  suggested  Ruston.  Then,  with 
a  sudden  twinkle  of  his  eye,  his  holiday  mood  seemed 
to  come  back  again.  Seizing  the  Baron's  arm,  he 
pressed  it,  and  said  with  a  laugh,  "  I  say,  Baron,  if 
you  want  to  get  control  over  Omofaga " 

"  But,  my  dear  friend "  protested  the  Baron. 

"If  you  do — I  only  say  'if — I'm  not  the  only 
man  you've  got  to  fight.  Well,  yes,  I  am  the  only 
man." 

"  My  dear  young  friend,  I  don't  understand  you," 
pleaded  the  Baron. 

"  We'll  go  and  see  Mrs.  Dennison  to-morrow,"  said 
Willie  Ruston. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
the  thing  or  the  man. 

"  Well  ?  " 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  next  day,  Mrs.  Denni- 
son  sat  in  her  place  in  the  little  garden  on  the  cliff, 
and  Willie  Ruston  stood  just  at  the  turn  of  the 
mounting  path,  where  Marjory  had  paused  to  look  at 
her  friend. 

"  Well,  here  I  am,"  said  he. 

She  did  not  move,  but  held  out  her  hand.  He 
advanced  and  took  it. 

"  I  met  your  children  down  below,"  he  went  on, 
"  but  they  would  hardly  speak  to  me.  Why  don't 
they  like  me  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  the  children." 

"  But  I  do  mind.     Most  children  like  me." 

"  How  is  everything?  " 

"  In  London  ?  Oh,  first-rate.  I  saw  your  hus- 
band the " 

"  I  mean,  how  is  Omofaga  ?  " 

"  Capital ;  and  here  ?  " 

12  (173) 


174  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  It  has  been  atrociously  dull.     What  could  you 
expect  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  didn't  expect  that,  or  I  shouldn't  have 


come." 


"  Are  the  stores  started  ?  " 

"  I  thought  it  was  holiday  time  ?    Well,  yes,  they 


are." 


She  had  been  looking  at  him  ever  since  he  came, 
and  at  last  he  noticed  it. 

"  Do  I  look  well  ?  "  he  asked  in  joke. 

"  You  know,  it's  rather  a  pleasure  to  look  at  you," 
she  replied.  "  I've  been  feeling  so  shut  in,"  and  she 
pushed  her  hair  back  from  her  forehead,  and  glanced 
at  him  with  a  bright  smile.  "  And  it's  really  going 
well?" 

"  So  well,"  he  nodded,  "  that  everything's  quiet, 
and  the  preparations  well  ahead.  In  three  months  " 
(and  his  enthusiasm  began  to  get  hold  of  him)  "  I 
shall  be  off ;  in  two  more  I  hope  to  be  actually  there, 
and  then — why,  forward  ! " 

She  had  listened  at  first  with  sparkling  eyes ;  as 
he  finished,  her  lips  drooped,  and  she  leant  back  in 
her  chair.  There  was  a  moment's  silence ;  then  she 
said  in  a  low  voice, 

"  Three  months  !  " 

"  It  oughtn't  to  take  more  than  two,  if  Jackson 
has  arranged  things  properly  for  me." 

Evidently  he  was  thinking  of  his  march  up  conn- 


THE  THING  OR  THE   MAN.  175 

try ;  but  it  was  the  first  three  months  that  were  in 
her  mind.  She  had  longed  to  see  the  thing  really 
started,  hastened  by  all  her  efforts  the  hour  that  was 
to  set  him  at  work,  and  dreamt  of  the  day  when  ho 
should  set  foot  in  Omofaga.  Now  all  this  seemed 
assured,  imminent,  almost  present ;  yet  there  was  no 
exultation  in  her  tone. 

"  I  meant,  before  you  started,"  she  said  slowly. 

He  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  I  can't  manage  sooner,"  he  said,  defending  him- 
self.    "  You  know  I  don't  waste  time." 

He  was  still  off  the  scent ;  and  even  she  -herself 
was  only  now,  for  the  first  time  and  as  yet  dimly, 
realising  her  own  mind. 

"  I  have  to  do  everything  myself,"  he  said.  "  Dear 
old  Carlin  can't  walk  a  step  alone,  and  the  Board  " — 
he  paused,  remembering  that  Harry  Dennison  was  on 
the  Board — "  well,  I  find  it  hard  to  make  them  move 
as  quick  as  I  want.  I  had  to  fix  a  date,  and  I  fixed 
the  earliest  I  could  be  absolutely  sure  of." 

"  Why  don't  they  help  you  more  ?  "  she  burst  out 
indignantly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  help." 

"  Yes,  but  I  helped  you  !  "  she  exclaimed,  leaning 
forward,  full  again  of  animation. 

"  I  can't  deny  it,"  he  laughed.  "  You  did  in- 
deed." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  became  again  silent. 


1YG  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"Apropos"  said  he.  "  I  want  to  bring  someone  to 
see  you  this  afternoon — Baron  von  Geltschmidt." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  He  was  the  German  capitalist,  you  know." 

"  What !     Why,  what's  he  doing  here  ?  " 

"  He  came  to  see  me — so  he  says.  May  I  bring 
him  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes.     He's  a  great — a  great  man,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  Well,  he's  a  great  financier." 

"  And  he  came  to  see  you  ?  " 

"  So  he  says." 

"  And  don't  you  believe  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  want  your  opinion,"  answered 
Huston,  with  a  smile. 

"  Are  you  serious?  "  she  asked  quickly.  "  I  mean, 
do  you  really  want  my  opinion,  or  are  you  being 
polite  ?  " 

"  T  don't  think  you  a  fool,  you  know,"  said  Willie 
Huston. 

She  flashed  a  glance  of  understanding,  mingled 
with  reproach,  at  him,  and,  leaning  forward  again, 
said, 

"  Has  he  come  about  Omofaga?  " 

"  That  you  might  tell  me  too — or  will  you  want 
all  Omofaga  if  you  do  so  much  ?  " 

For  a  moment  she  smiled  in  recollection.  Then 
her  face  grew  sad. 

"  Much  of  Omofaga  I  shall  have  !  "  she  said. 


THE  THING   OR  THE   MAN.  177 

"  Oh,  I'll  write,"  he  promised  carelessly. 

"  Write ! "  she  repeated  in  low,  scornful  tones. 
"  Would  you  like  to  be  written  to  about  it  ?  It'll 
happen  to  you,  and  I'm  to  be  written  to !  " 

"  Well,  then,  I  won't  write." 

"  Yes,  do  write." 

Willie  Euston  smiled  tolerantly,  but  his  smile  was 
suddenly  cut  short,  for  Mrs.  Dennison,  not  looking  at 
him  but  out  to  sea,  asked  herself  in  a  whisper,  which 
was  plainly  not  meant  for  him  though  he  heard  it, 

"How  shall  I  bear  it?" 

He  had  been  tilting  his  chair  back ;  he  brought 
the  front  legs  suddenly  on  to  the  ground  again  and 
asked, 

"Bear  what?" 

She  started  to  find  he  had  heard,  but  attempted  no 
evasion. 

"  When  you've  gone,"  she  answered  in  simple  di- 
rectness. 

He  looked  at  her  with  raised  eyebrows.  There 
was  no  embarrassment  in  her  face,  and  no  tremble  in 
her  voice ;  and  no  passion  could  he  detect  in  either. 

"  How  flat  it  will  all  be,"  she  added  in  a  tone  of 
utter  weariness. 

He  was  half-pleased,  half-piqued  at  the  way  she 
seemed  to  look  at  him.  It  not  only  failed  to  satisfy 
him,  but  stirred  a  new  dissatisfaction.  It  hinted 
much,  but  only,  it  seemed  to  him,  to  negative  it.     It 


178  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

left  Omofaga  still  all  in  all,  and  him  of  interest  only 
because  he  would  talk  of  and  work  for  Omofaga,  and 
keep  the  Omofaga  atmosphere  about  her.  Now  this 
was  wrong,  for  Omofaga  existed  for  him,  not  he  for 
Omofaga ;  that  was  the  faith  of  true  disciples. 

"You  don't  care  about  me,"  he  said.  "It's  all 
the  Company  —  and  only  the  Company  because  it 
gives  you  something  to  do.  Well,  the  Company'll  go 
on  (I  hope),  and  you'll  hear  about  our  doings." 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  she  said  with  a  shake 
of  her  head.  Then,  with  a  sudden  air  of  understand- 
ing, as  though  she  had  caught  the  meaning  that  be- 
fore eluded  her,  she  cried,  "  I'm  just  like  you,  I  be- 
lieve.   If  I  went  to  Omofaga,  and  you  had  to  stay " 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  the  deuce  ! "  he  laughed. 

"  Yes,  yes.  Well,  it  is — the  deuce,"  she  answered, 
laughing  in  return.  But  in  a  moment  she  was  grave 
again. 

Her  attraction  for  him — the  old  special  attraction 
of  the  unknown  and  unconquered  —  came  strongly 
upon  him,  and  mingled  more  now  with  pleasure  in 
her.  Her  silence  let  him  think ;  and  he  began  to 
think  how  wasted  she  was  on  Harry  Dcnnison.  An- 
other thought  followed,  and  to  that  he  gave  utterance. 

"  But  you've  lots  of  things  you  could  do  at  home ; 
you  could  have  plenty  to  work  at,  and  plenty  of — of 
influence,  and  so  on." 


THE   THING   OR  THE   MAN.  179 

"  Yes,  but — oh,  it  would  come  to  Mr.  Bel  ford ! 
Who  wants  to  influence  Mr.  Belford?  Besides,  I've 
grown  to  love  it  now,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"Omofaga?" 

"  Yes !  It's  so  far  off — and  most  people  don't  be- 
lieve in  it." 

"  No,  confound  them  !     I  wish  they  did  !  " 

"  Do  you  ?    I'm  not  sure  I  do." 

She  was  so  absorbed  that  she  had  not  heard  an 
approaching  step,  and  was  surprised  to  see  Huston 
jump  up  while  her  last  sentence  was  but  half  said. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Valentine,"  he  cried,  his  face  light- 
ing up  with  a  smile  of  pleasure,  "  how  pleasant  to 
meet  you  again  !  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  sincerity  of  his  greet- 
ing. Marjory  blushed  as  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and 
he  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  in  undisguised  approval. 

"  You're  looking  splendid,"  he  said.  "  Is  it  the 
air  or  the  bathing  or  what  ?  " 

Perhaps  it  was  both  in  part,  but,  more  than  either, 
it  was  a  change  that  worked  outwards  from  within, 
and  was  giving  to  her  face  the  expression  without 
which  mere  beauty  of  form  or  colour  is  poor  in  allure- 
ment. The  last  traces  of  what  Lord  Semingham 
meant  by  "  insipidity  "  had  been  chased  away.  Hus- 
ton felt  the  change  though  he  could  not  track  it. 

Marjory,  a  bad  dissembler,  greeted  him  nervously, 
almost  coldly ;  she  was  afraid  to  let  her  gaze  rest  on 


180  THE   GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

him  or  on  Mrs.  Dennison  for  long,  lest  it  should  hint 
her  secret.  Her  manner  betrayed  such  uneasiness 
that  Ruston  noticed  it.  Mrs.  Dennison  did  not,  for 
something  in  Ruston's  face  had  caught  her  attention. 
She  had  seen  many  expressions  in  his  eyes  as  he 
looked  at  her — of  sympathy,  amusement,  pleasure, 
even  (what  had  pleased  her  most)  puzzle,  but  never 
what  she  saw  now.  The  look  now  was  a  man's  hom- 
age to  beauty — it  differs  from  every  other — a  lover 
hardly  seems  to  have  it  unless  his  love  be  beautiful — 
and  she  had  never  yet  seen  it  when  he  looked  at  her. 
She  turned  away  towards  the  sea,  grasping  the  arm  of 
her  chair  with  a  sudden  grip  that  streaked  her  fingers 
red  and  white.  Marjory  also  saw,  and  a  wild  hope 
leapt  up  in  her  that  her  task  needed  not  the  doing. 
But  a  moment  later  Ruston  was  back  in  Omofaga — 
young  Sir  Walter  being  his  bridge  for  yet  another 
transit. 

"  How's  Mr.  Dennison  ?  "  asked  Marjory,  when  he 
gave  her  an  opportunity. 

"  Oh,  he's  all  right.  You'd  have  heard,  I  suppose, 
if  he  hadn't  been  ?  " 

It  was  true.  Marjory  recognised  the  inappropri- 
ateness  of  her  question,  but  Mrs.  Dennison  came  to 
the  rescue. 

"  Marjory  wants  a  personal  impression,"  she  said. 
"  You  know  she  and  my  husband  are  great  allies!" 

"  Well,"  laughed  Ruston,    "  he  was   a  little  cross 


THE  THING   OR  THE  MAN.  181 

with  me  because  I  would  come  to  Dieppe.  I  should 
have  felt  the  same  in  his  place ;  but  he's  well  enough, 
1  think." 

"I  was  going  down  to  find  Lady  Semingham," 
said  Marjory.  "  Are  you  coming  down  this  morning, 
Maggie  ?  " 

"  Maggie  "  was  something  new — adopted  at  Mrs. 
Dennison's  request. 

"  I  think  not,  dear." 

"  I  am,"  said  Ruston,  taking  up  his  walking  stick. 
"  I  shall  be  up  with  the  Baron  this  afternoon,  Mrs. 
Dennison.  Come  along,  Miss  Valentine.  We've  been 
having  no  end  of  palaver  about  Omofaga,"  and  as  they 
disappeared  down  the  cliff  Mrs.  Dennison  heard  his 
voice  talking  eagerly  to  Marjory. 

She  felt  her  heart  beating  quickly.  She  had  to 
conquer  a  strange  impulse  to  rise  and  hurry  after 
them.  She  knew  that  she  must  be  jealous — jealous, 
she  said  to  herself,  trying  to  laugh,  that  he  should  talk 
about  Omofaga  to  other  people.  Nonsense !  Why, 
he  was  always  talking  of  it !  There  was  a  stronger 
feeling  in  her,  less  vague,  of  fuller  force.  It  had  come 
on  her  when  he  spoke  of  his  going  to  Africa,  but  then 
it  was  hard  to  understand,  for  with  all  her  heart  she 
thought  she  was  still  bent  on  his  going.  It  spoke 
more  clearly  now,  stirred  by  the  threat  of  opposition. 
At  first  it  had  been  the  thing — the  scheme — the  idea 
— that  had  caught  her;  she  had  taken  the  man  for  the 


182  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

thing's  sake,  because  to  do  such  a  thing  proved  him  a 
man  after  her  pattern.  But  now,  as  she  sat  in  the 
little  garden,  she  dimly  traced  her  change — she  loved 
the  scheme  because  it  was  his.  She  did  not  shrink 
from  testing  it.  "  Yes,"  she  murmured,  "  if  he  gave 
it  up  now,  I  should  go  on  with  him  to  something  else." 
Then  came  another  step — why  should  he  not  give  it 
up?  Why  should  he  go  into  banishment — he  who 
might  go  near  to  rule  England?  AVhy  should  he 
empty  her  life  by  going?  But  if  he  went — and  she 
could  not  persuade  herself  that  she  had  power  to  stop 
his  going — he  must  go  from  her  side,  it  must  be  she 
who  gave  him  the  stirrup-cup,  she  towards  whom  he 
would  look  across  the  sea,  she  for  whom  he  would 
store  up  his  brief,  grim  tales  of  victory,  in  whose  eyes 
he  would  see  the  reflection  of  his  triumphs.  Could 
she  fill  such  a  place  in  his  life  ?  She  knew  that  she 
did  not  yet,  but  she  believed  in  herself.  "  I  feel  large 
enough,"  she  said  with  a  smile. 

Yet  there  was  something  that  she  had  not  yet 
touched  in  him — the  thing  which  had  put  that  look 
in  his  eyes,  a  thing  that  for  the  moment  at  least  Mar- 
jory Valentine  had  touched.  Why  had  she  not  ?  She 
answered,  with  a  strong  clinging  to  self -approbation, 
that  it  was  because  she  would  not.  She  told  herself 
that  she  had  asked  nothing  from  her  intercourse  with 
him  save  the  play  of  mind  on  mind— it  was  her  mind 
ami  nothing  else  that  her  own  home  failed  to  satisfy. 


THE  THING  OR  THE  MAN.  183 

She  recalled  the  scornful  disgust  with  which  she  had 
listened  to  Semingham  when  he  hinted  to  her  that 
there  was  only  one  way  to  rule  a  man.  It  seemed  less 
disgusting  to  her  now  than  when  he  spoke.  For,  in 
the  light  of  that  look  in  his  eyes,  there  stood  revealed 
a  new  possibility — always  obvious,  never  hitherto 
thought  of — that  another  would  take  and  wield  the 
lower  mighty  power  that  she  had  disdained  to  grasp, 
and  by  the  might  of  the  lower  wrest  from  her  the  higher. 
Was  not  the  lower  solidly  based  in  nature,  the  higher 
a  fanciful  structure  resting  in  no  sound  foundation  ? 
The  moment  this  spectre  took  form  before  her — the 
moment  she  grasped  that  the  question  might  lie  be- 
tween her  and  another — that  it  might  be  not  what  she 
would  take  but  what  she  could  keep — her  heart  cried 
out,  to  ears  that  shrank  from  the  tumultuous  reckless 
cry,  that  less  than  all  was  nothing,  that,  if  need  be,  all 
must  be  paid  for  all.  And,  swift  on  the  horror  of  her 
discovery,  came  the  inevitable  joy  in  it — joy  that  will 
be  silenced  by  no  reproofs,  not  altogether  abashed  by 
any  shame,  that  no  pangs  can  rob  utterly  of  its  exist- 
ence— a  thing  to  smother,  to  hide,  to  rejoice  in. 

Yet  she  would  not  face  unflinchingly  what  her 
changing  mind  must  mean.  She  tried  to  put  it  aside 
— to  think  of  something,  ah !  of  anything  else,  of  any- 
thing that  would  give  her  foothold. 

"  I  love  my  husband,"  she  found  herself  saying. 
"  I  love  poor  old  Harry  and  the  children."     She  re- 


181  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

peatcd  it  again  and  again,  praying  the  shibboleth  to 
show  its  saving  virtue.  It  was  part  of  her  creed,  part 
of  her  life,  to  be  a  good  wife  and  mother — part  of  her 
traditions  that  women  who  were  not  that  were  noth- 
ing at  all,  and  that  there  was  nothing  a  woman  might 
take  in  exchange  for  this  one  splendid,  all-compre- 
hending virtue.  To  that  she  must  stand — it  was 
strange  to  be  driven  to  argue  with  herself  on  such  a 
point.  She  mused  restlessly  as  she  sat ;  she  listened 
eagerly  for  her  children's  footsteps  mounting  the  hill ; 
she  prayed  an  interruption  to  rescue  her  from  her 
thoughts.  Just  now  she  would  think  no  more  about 
it;  it  was  thinking  about  it  that  did  all  the  harm. 
Yet  while  she  was  alone  she  could  not  choose  but  sur- 
render to  the  thought  of  it — to  the  thought  of  what  a 
price  she  must  pay  for  her  traditions  and  her  creed. 
The  payment,  she  cried,  would  leave  life  an  empty 
thing.  Yet  it  must  be  paid — if  it  must.  Was  it  now 
come  to  that?     Was  this  the  parting  of  the  roads? 

"  I  must,  yet  I  cannot !  I  must  not,  yet  I  must." 
It  was  the  old  clash  of  powers,  the  old  conflict  of  com- 
mands, the  old  ruthless  will  of  nature  that  makes  right 
too  hard  and  yet  fastens  anguish  upon  sin — that  makes 
us  yearn  for  and  hate  the  higher  while  we  love  and 
loathe  the  lower. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE    WORK    OF    A    WEEK. 

Much  went  to  spoil  the  stay  at  Dieppe,  but  the 
only  overt  trouble  was  the  feeble  health  of  the  Baron 
von  Geltschmidt.  The  old  man  had  rapidly  made  his 
way  into  the  liking  of  his  new  acquaintances.  Sem- 
ingham  found  his  dry,  worldly-wise,  perhaps  world- 
weary,  humour  an  admirable  sauce  to  conversation; 
Adela  Ferrars  detected  kindness  in  him  ;  his  gallant 
deference  pleased  Lady  Semingham.  They  were  all 
grieved  when  the  cold  winds  laid  hold  of  him,  forced 
him  to  keep  house  often,  and  drove  him  to  furs  and 
a  bath-chair,  even  when  the  sun  shone  most  brightly. 
Although  they  liked  him,  they  implored  him  to  fly 
south.  He  would  not  move,  finding  pleasure  in  them, 
and  held  fast  by  an  ever-increasing  uneasy  interest  in 
Willie  Ruston.  Adela  quarrelled  with  him  heartily 
and  energetically  on  this  score.  To  risk  health  be- 
cause anyone  was  interesting  was  absurd  ;  to  risk  it 
on  Ruston's  account  most  preposterous.  "  I'd  be  ill  to 
get  away  from  him,"  she  declared.     The  Baron  was 

(185) 


18G  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

obstinate,  fatalistic  as  to  his  health,  infatuated  in  his 
folly  ;  stay  he  would,  while  Huston  stayed.  Yet  what 
Huston  did,  pleased  him  not ;  for  the  better  part  of 
the  man — what  led  him  to  respond  to  kindness  or 
aifection,  and  abate  something  of  his  hardness  where 
he  met  no  resistance — seemed  to  be  conspiring  with 
his  old  domineering  mood  to  lead  him  beyond  all 
power  of  warning  or  recall. 

A  week  had  passed  since  Ruston  paid  his  first  visit 
to  Mrs.  Dennison  in  the  cottage  on  the  cliff.  It  was  a 
bright  morning.  The  Baron  was  feeling  stronger ;  he 
had  left  his  chair  and  walked  with  Adela  to  a  seat. 
There  they  sat  side  by  side,  in  the  occasional  talk  and 
easy  silences  of  established  friendship.  The  Baron 
smoked  his  cigar;  Adela  looked  idly  at  the  sea;  but 
suddenly  the  Baron  began  to  speak. 

"  I  had  a  talk  with  our  friend,  Lord  Semingham, 
this  morning,"  said  he. 

"About  anything  in  particular?" 

"  I  meant  it  to  be,  but  he  doesn't  like  talk  that 
leads  anywhere  in  particular." 

"  No,  he  doesn't,"  said  Adela,  with  a  slight  smile. 

The  Baron  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he 
said, 

"  May  I  talk  to  you,  Miss  Ferrars?  "  and  he  looked 
at  her  inquiringly. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  she  answered.  "  Is  it  about 
yourself,  Baron?    You're  not  worse,  are  you?" 


THE   WORK   OP  A   WEEK.  187 

He  took  no  notice  of  her  question,  but  pointed 
towards  the  cliff. 

"  What  is  happening  up  there?  "  he  asked. 

Adela  started.  She  had  not  realised  that  he  meant 
to  talk  on  that  subject. 

He  detected  her  shrinking  and  hastened  to  defend 
himself. 

"Or  are  we  to  say  nothing?"  he  asked.  "Noth- 
ing? AVhen  we  all  see!  Don't  you  see?  Doesn't 
Miss  Valentine  see  ?  Is  she  so  sad  for  nothing  ?  Oh, 
don't  shake  your  head.  And  the  other— this  Mrs. 
Dennison  ?     Am  I  to  go  on  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Adela  sharply ;  and  added,  a  moment 
later,  "  I  know." 

"  And  what  does  he  mean  ?  " 

"  He  ?  "  cried  Adela.     "  Oh,  he's  not  human." 

"  Nay,  but  he's  terribly  human,"  said  the  old 
Baron. 

Adela  looked  round  at  him,  but  then  turned 
away. 

"  I  know  what  I  would  say,  but  I  may  not  say  it," 
pursued  the  Baron.  "  To  you  I  may  not  say  it.  I 
know  him.     He  will  take,  if  he  is  offered." 

His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper. 

"  Then  God  help  her,"  murmured  Adela  under  her 
breath,  while  her  cheeks  flamed  red. 

"  Yes,  he  will  take,  and  he  will  go.  Ah,  he  is  a 
man  to  follow  and  to  believe  in — to  trust  your  money, 


188  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

your  fortune,  your  plans,  even  your  secrets  to; 
but " 

He  paused,  flinging  away  his  extinct  cigar. 

"  Well?"  asked  Adela  in  a  low  tone,  eager  in  spite 
of  her  hatred  of  the  topic. 

"  Never  your  love,"  said  he  ;  and  added,  "  yet  I 
believe  I,  who  am  old  enough  to  know  better,  and  too 
old  to  learn  better,  have  almost  given  him  mine. 
Well,  I  am  not  a  woman." 

"  He  can't  hurt  you,"  said  Adela. 

"  Yes,  he  can,"  said  the  Baron  with  a  dreary  smile. 

Adela  was  not  thinking  of  her  companion. 

"  Why  do  you  talk  of  it?"  she  asked  impatiently. 

"  I  know  I  was  wrong." 

"  No,  no.     I  mean,  why  do  you  talk  of  it  now  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  the  Baron,  "  he  will  not.  Have 
you  seen  no  change  in  him  this  week  ?  A  week  ago, 
he  laughed  when  I  talked  to  him.  He  did  not  mind 
me  speaking — it  was  still  a  trifle — nonsense — a  week 
ago ;  if  you  like,  an  amusement,  a  pastime  !  " 

"  Well,  and  now  ?  " 

"  Now  he  tells  me  to  hold  my  tongue.  And  yet  I 
am  glad  for  one  thing.  That  girl  will  not  have  him 
for  a  husband." 

"  Glad  !     Why,  Baron,  don't  you  see " 

"Yes,  1  see.     Still  I  am  glad." 

"  I  can't  go  on  talking  about  it;  but  is  there  no 
hope  ?  " 


THE    WORK   OP  A    WEEK.  189 

"Where  is  it?  For  the  time — mind  you  for  the 
time — he  is  under  that  other  woman's  power." 

"  She's  under  his,  you  mean." 

"  1  mean  both.  She  was  a  friend  of  yours.  Yes. 
She  is  not  altogether  a  bad  woman ;  but  she  has  had  a 
bad  fortune.     Ah,  there  she  is,  and  he  with  her." 

As  he  spoke,  Mrs.  Dennison  and  Euston  came  by. 
Mrs.  Dennison  flung  them  a  glance  of  recognition  ;  it 
was  hardly  more,  and  even  for  so  much  she  seemed  to 
grudge  the  interruption.  Kuston's  greeting  was  more 
ceremonious;  he  smiled,  but  his  brows  contracted  a 
little,  and  he  said  to  his  companion, 

"  Miss  Ferrars  isn't  pleased  with  me." 

"  That  hurts  ?  "  she  asked  lightly. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  after  a  short  jmuse,  "  I  don't 
know  that  it  does." 

But  the  frown  dwelt  a  little  longer  on  his  face. 

"  Sit  down  here,"  she  said,  and  they  sat  down  in 
full  view  of  Adela  and  the  Baron,  about  twenty  yards 
off. 

"  She's  mad,"  murmured  Adela,  and  the  Baron 
muttered  assent. 

It  was  the  time  of  the  morning  when  everybody 

was    out.      Presently    Lord    and    Lady   Semingham 

strolled    by — Lady  Semingham   did    not   see  Maggie 

Dennison,  her   husband   did,  and  Adela  caught   the 

look  in  his  eye.     Then  down  from  the  hill  and  on  to 

the  grass  came   Marjory  Valentine.     She  saw  both 
13 


190  THE   GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

couples,  and,  for  a  perceptible  moment,  stood  waver- 
ing between  them.  She  looked  pale  and  weary.  Mrs. 
Dennison  indicated  her  with  the  slightest  gesture. 

"  You  were  asking  for  her.  There  she  is,"  she 
said  to  Willie  Ruston. 

"  Well,  I  think  I'll  go  and  ask  her." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  To  come  for  a  walk." 

"  Now  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  surprised  smile. 

As  he  spoke,  Marjory's  hesitation  ended ;  she  joined 
Adela  and  the  Baron. 

"  How  rude  you  are ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dennison 
angrily,  "you  asked  me  to  come  out  with  you." 

"  So  I  did.  By  Jove,  so  I  did !  But  you  don't 
walk,  do  you?    And  I  feel  rather  like  a  walk  now." 

"  Oh,  if  you  prefer  her  society " 

"  Her  prattle,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  amuses  me. 
You  and  I  always  discuss  high  matters,  you  see." 

"  She  doesn't  prattle,  and  you  know  it." 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment.  He  had  gone  so 
far  as  to  rise,  but  he  resumed  his  seat. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  tolerantly. 

Maggie  Dennison's  lip  quivered.  The  week  that 
had  passed  had  been  a  stormy  one  to  her.  There  had 
been  a  breaking-down  of  barriers — barriers  of  honour, 
conscience,  and  pride.  All  she  could  do  to  gain  or 
keep   her   mastery  she  had  done.     She  had  all   but 


THE   WORK  OF  A   WEEK.  191 

thrown  herself  at  his  feet.  She  hated  to  think  of  the 
tilings  she  had  said  or  half -said ;  and  she  had  seen 
Marjory's  eyes  look  wondering  horror  and  pitying  con- 
tempt at  her.  Of  her  husband  she  would  not  think. 
And  she  had  won  in  return — she  knew  not  what.  It 
hung  still  in  the  balance.  Sometimes  he  would  seem 
engrossed  in  her ;  but  again  he  would  turn  to  Marjory 
or  another  with  a  kind  of  relief,  as  though  she  wearied 
him.  And  of  her  struggles,  of  the  great  humiliations 
she  suffered,  of  all  she  sacrificed  to  him,  he  seemed 
unconscious.  Yet,  cost  what  it  might,  she  could  not 
let  him  go  now.  The  screen  of  Omofaga  was  dropped ; 
she  knew  that  it  was  the  man  whose  life  she  was  reso- 
lute to  fill ;  whether  she  called  it  love  for  him  or  what 
else  mattered  little ;  it  seemed  rather  a  mere  condition 
of  existence,  necessary  yet  not  sweet,  even  revolting ; 
but  its  alternative  was  death. 

She  had  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment  under  the 
stress  of  her  pain.  When  she  opened  them,  he  was 
looking  at  her.  And  the  look  she  knew  was  at  last  in 
his  eyes.  She  put  up  her  hand  to  ward  it  off ;  it  woke 
her  horror,  but  it  woke  her  delight  also.  She  could 
not  choose  whether  to  banish  it,  or  to  live  in  it  all 
her  life.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  her  utterance  was 
choked. 

"  Why,  I  believe  you're — jealous,"  said  Willie  Rus- 
ton.  "  But  then  they  always  say  I'm  a  conceited 
chap." 


192  THE  GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

He  spoke  with  a  laugh,  but  he  looked  at  her  in- 
tently. The  little  scene  was  the  climax  of  a  week's 
gradual  betrayal.  Often  in  all  the  hours  they  had 
spent  together,  in  all  the  engrossing  talks  they  had 
had,  something  of  the  kind  had  appeared  and  disap- 
peared ;  he  had  wondered  at  her  changefulness,  her 
moods  of  expansion  and  of  coldness — a  rapturous 
greeting  of  him  to  be  followed  by  a  cold  dismissal — an 
eager  sympathy  alternating  with  wilful  indifference. 
She  had,  too,  fits  of  prudence,  when  she  would  not  go 
with  him — and  then  spasms  of  recklessness  when  her 
manner  seemed  to  defy  all  restraint  and  mock  at  the 
disapproval  of  her  friends.  On  these  puzzles — to  him, 
preoccupied  as  he  was  and  little  versed  in  such  mat- 
ters, they  had  seemed  such — the  present  moment  shed 
its  light.  He  recalled,  with  understanding,  tilings 
that  had  passed  meaninglessly  before  his  eyes,  that  he 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  altogether;  the  ambiguous 
things  became  plain ;  what  had  been,  though  plain, 
yet  strange,  fell  into  its  ordered  place  and  became 
natural.  Tlie  new  relation  between  them  proclaimed 
itself  the  interpretation  and  the  work  of  the  bygone 
week. 

|[<t  glove  lay  in  her  lap,  and  he  touched  it  light- 
ly ;  the  gesture  speaking  of  their  sudden  new  famil- 
iarity. 

Her  reproach  was  no  less  eloquent;  she  rebuked 
not  the  thing,  but  the  rashness  of  it. 


THE   WORK  OF  A    WEEK.  1<J3 

"  Don't  do  that.  They're  looking,"  she  found  voice 
to  whisper. 

He  withdrew  his  hand,  and,  taking  off  his  hat, 
pushed  the  hair  back  from  his  forehead.  Presently 
he  looked  at  her  with  an  almost  comical  air  of  per- 
plexity ;  she  was  conscious  of  the  glance,  but  she  would 
not  meet  it.     He  pursed  his  lips  to  whistle. 

"  Don't,"  she  whispered  sharply.  "  Don't  whistle." 
A  whistle  brought  her  husband  to  her  mind. 

The  checked  whistle  rudely  reflected  his  mingled 
feelings.  He  wished  that  he  had  been  more  on  his 
guard — against  her  and  against  himself.  There  had 
been  enough  to  put  him  on  his  guard ;  if  he  had  been 
put  on  his  guard,  this  thing  need  not  have  happened. 
He  called  the  thing  in  his  thoughts  "  inconvenient." 
He  was  marvellously  awake  to  the  inconvenience  of  it ; 
it  was  that  which  came  uppermost  in  his  mind  as  he 
sat  by  Maggie  Dennison.  Yet,  in  spite  of  a  phrase 
that  sounded  so  cold  and  brutal,  his  reflections  paid 
her  no  little  compliment ;  for  he  called  the  revelation 
inconvenient  all  the  more,  and  most  of  all,  because  he 
found  it  of  immense  interest,  because  it  satisfied  sud- 
denly and  to  the  full  a  sense  of  interest  and  expecta- 
tion that  had  been  upon  him,  because  it  seemed  to 
make  an  immense  change  in  his  mind  and  to  alter  the 
conditions  of  his  life.  Had  it  not  done  all  this,  its 
inconvenience  would  have  been  much  less — to  him 
and  save  in  so  far  as  he  grieved  for  her — nay,  it  would 


194  THE   GOD  IN  TIIE  CAR. 

have  been,  in  reality,  nothing.  It  was  inconvenient 
because  it  twisted  his  purposes,  set  him  at  jar  with 
himself,  and  cut  across  the  orderly  lines  he  had  laid 
down — and  because,  though  it  did  all  this,  he  was 
not  grieved  nor  angry  at  it. 

He  rose  to  his  feet.  Mrs.  Dennison  looked  up 
quickly. 

"  I  shall  go  for  my  walk  now,"  he  said,  and  he 
added  in  answer  to  her  silent  question,  "  Oh,  yes, 
alone.    I've  got  a  thing  or  two  I  want  to  think  about." 

Her  eyes  dropped  as  he  spoke.  He  had  smiled, 
and  she,  in  spite  of  herself,  had  smiled  in  answer ;  but 
she  could  not  look  at  him  while  she  smiled.  He 
stood  there  for  an  instant,  smiling  still ;  then  he  grew 
grave,  and  turned  to  walk  away.  Her  sigh  witnessed 
the  relaxation  of  the  strain.  But,  after  one  step,  he 
faced  her  again,  and  said,  as  though  the  idea  had  just 
struck  him, 

"I  say,  when  does  Dennison  come?" 

"  In  a  week,"  she  answered. 

For  just  a  moment  again,  he  stood  still,  thought- 
fully looking  at  her.  Then  he  lifted  his  hat,  wheeled 
round,  and  walked  briskly  off  towards  the  jetty  at  the 
far  end  of  the  expanse  of  grass.  Adela  Ferrars,  twen- 
ty yards  off,  marked  his  going  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Mrs.  Dennison  sat  where  she  was  a  little  while 
longer.  Her  agitation  was  quickly  passing,  and  there 
followed  on  it  a  feeling  of  calm.     She  seemed  to  have 


THE   WORK  OP  A   WEEK.  195 

resigned  charge  of  herself,  to  have  given  her  conduct 
into  another's  keeping.  She  did  not  know  what  he 
would  do ;  he  had  uttered  no  word  of  pleasure  or 
pain,  praise  or  blame  ;  and  that  question  at  the  last — 
about  her  husband — was  ambiguous.  Did  he  ask  it, 
fearing  Harry's  arrival,  or  did  he  think  the  arrival  of 
her  husband  would  end  an  awkward  position  and  set 
him  free?  Really,  she  did  not  know.  She  had  done 
what  she  could — and  what  she  could  not  help.  He 
must  do  what  he  liked — only,  knowing  him,  she  did 
not  think  that  she  had  set  an  end  to  their  acquaint- 
ance.    And  that  for  the  moment  was  enough. 

"  A  woman,  Bessie,"  she  heard  a  voice  behind  her 
saying,  "  may  be  anything  from  a  cosmic  force  to  a 
clothes-peg." 

"  I  don't  know  what  a  cosmic  force  is,"  said  Lady 
Semingham. 

"  A  cosmic  force  ?    Why " 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  know,  Alfred.  Why,  Mag- 
gie, that's  a  new  shade  of  brown  on  your  shoes. 
Where  do  you  get  them  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dennison  gave  her  bootmaker's  address,  and 
Lady  Semingham  told  her  husband  to  remember  it. 
She  never  remembered  that  he  always  forgot  such 
things. 

The  arrival  of  the  Seminghams  seemed  to  break 
the  spell  which  had  held  Mrs.  Dennison  apart  from 
the   group  over  against  her.     Adela   strolled   across, 


196  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

followed  by  Marjory,  and  the  Baron  on  Marjory's 
arm.  The  whole  party  gathered  in  a  cluster ;  but 
Marjory  hung  loosely  on  the  outskirts  of  the  circle, 
and  seemed  scarcely  to  belong  to  it. 

The  Baron  seated  himself  in  the  place  Willie 
Ruston  had  left  empty.  The  rest  stood  talking  for  a 
minute  or  two,  then  Semingham  put  his  hand  in  his 
pocket  and  drew  out  a  folded  sheet  of  tracing-paper. 

"  We're  all  Omofagites  here,  aren't  we?  "  he  said  ; 
"even  you,  Baron,  now.  Here's  a  plan  Carlin  has 
just  sent  me.     It  shows  our  territory." 

Everybody  crowded  round  to  look  as  he  unfolded 
it.  Mrs.  Dennison  was  first  in  undisguised  eagerness ; 
and  Marjory  came  closer,  slipping  her  arm  through 
Adela  Ferrars'. 

"  What  does  the  blue  mean  ?  "  asked  Adela. 

"  Native  settlements." 

"  Oh  !     And  all  that  brown  ? — it's  mostly  brown." 

"Brown,"  answered  Semingham,  with  a  slight 
smile,  "  means  unexplored  country." 

"  I  should  have  made  it  all  brown,"  said  Adela, 
and  the  Baron  gave  an  appreciative  chuckle. 

"  And  what  are  these  little  red  crosses  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Dennison,  laying  the  tip  of  her  finger  on  one. 

"Eh?  What,  those?  Oh,  let  me  sec.  Here, 
just  hold  it  while  I  look  at  Carlin's  letter.  He  ex- 
plains it  all,"  and  Lord  Semingham  began  to  fumble 
in  his  breast-pocket. 


THE   WORK  OP  A  WEEK.  197 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Bessie  Semingham,  in  a  tone  of 
delicate  pleasure,  "  they  look  like  tombstones." 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  dear  lady,"  cried  the  old  Baron  ; 
"  what  a  bad  omen  !  " 

"  Tombstones,"  echoed  Maggie  Dennison  thought- 
fully.    "  80  they  do — just  like  tombstones." 

A  pause  fell  on  the  group.     Adela  broke  it. 

"  Well,  Director,  have  you  found  your  directions?  " 
she  asked  briskly. 

"  It  was  a  momentary  lapse  of  memory,"  said  Sem- 
ingham with  dignity.     "  Those — er — little " 

"  No,  not  tombstones,"  interrupted  the  Baron  ear- 
nestly. 

"  Little — er — signposts  are,  of  course,  the  forts 
belonging  to  the  Company.  What  else  should  they 
be?" 

"  Oh,  forts"  murmured  everybody. 

"  They  are,"  continued  Lord  Semingham  apolo- 
getically, "  in  the  nature  of  a  prophecy  at  present,  as 
I  understand." 

"  A  very  bad  prophecy,  according  to  Bessie,"  said 
Mrs.  Dennison. 

"  I  hope,"  said  the  Baron,  shaking  his  head,  "  that 
the  official  name  is  more  correct  than  Lady  Seming- 
ham's." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Marjory ;  and  added,  before  she 
could  think  not  to  add,  and  with  unlucky  haste,  "  my 
brother's  going  out,  you  know." 


198  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

Mrs.  Dennison  looked  at  her.  Then  she  crossed 
over  to  her,  saying  to  Adela, 

"  You  never  let  me  have  a  word  with  my  own 
guest,  except  at  breakfast  and  bedtime.  Come  and 
walk  up  and  down  with  me,  Marjory." 

Marjory  obeyed ;  the  group  began  to  scatter. 

"  But  didn't  they  look  like  tombstones,  Baron  ?  " 
said  Bessie  Semingham  again,  as  she  sat  down  and 
made  room  for  the  old  man  beside  her.  When  she 
had  an  idea  she  liked  it  very  much.  lie  began  to  be 
voluble  in  his  reproof  of  her  gloomy  fancies ;  but  she 
merely  laughed  in  glee  at  her  ingenuity. 

Adela,  by  a  gesture,  brought  Semingham  to  her 
side  and  walked  a  few  paces  off  with  him. 

"  Will  you  go  with  me  to  the  post-office  ?  "  she  said 
abruptly. 

"  By  all  means,"  he  answered,  feeling  for  his  glass. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  get  your  glass  to  spy  at  me 
with." 

"  Dear,  dear,  you  use  one  yourself  !  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  myself  why  I'm  going.  You're  go- 
ing to  send  a  telegram." 

"Am  I?" 

"  Yes;  to  invite  someone  to  stay  with  you.  Lord 
Semingham,  when  you  find  a  woman  relies  on  a  man 
— on  one  man  only — in  trouble,  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

She  asked  the  question  in  a  level  voice,  looking 
straight  before  her. 


THE  WORK  OP  A  WEEK.  199 

"  That  she's  fond  of  him." 

"  And  does  he — the  man — think  the  same  ?  " 

"  Generally.  I  think  most  men  would.  They're 
seldom  backward  to  think  it,  you  know." 

"  Then,"  she  said  steadily,  "  you  must  think,  and 
he  must  think,  what  you  like.  I  can't  help  it.  I 
want  you  to  wire  and  ask  a  man  to  come  and  stay 
with  you." 

He  turned  to  her  in  surprise. 

"Tom  Loring,"  she  said,  and  the  moment  the 
name  left  her  lips  Semingham  hastily  turned  his 
glance  away. 

"  Awkward — with  the  other  fellow  here,"  he  ven- 
tured to  suggest. 

"  Mr.  Huston  doesn't  choose  your  guests." 

«  But  Mrs. " 

"  Oh,  fancy  talking  of  awkwardness  now !  He 
used  to  influence  her  once,  you  know.  Perhaps  he 
might  still.  Do  let  us  try,"  and  her  voice  trembled 
in  earnestness. 

"  We'll  try.  Will  he  come  ?  He's  very  angry 
with  her." 

And  Adela  answered,  still  looking  straight  in  front 
of  her, 

"  I'm  going  to  send  him  a  wire,  too." 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Lord  Semingham. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

THE   LAST    BARRIERS. 

Willie  Huston  rested  his  elbows  on  the  jetty- 
wall  and  gazed  across  the  harbour  entrance.  He  had 
come  there  to  think ;  and  deliberate  thinking  was  a 
rare  thing  for  him  to  set  his  head  to.  His  brain  dealt 
generally — even  with  great  matters,  as  all  brains  deal 
with  small — in  rapid  half-unconscious  beats  ;  the  pro- 
cess coalescing  so  closely  with  the  decision  as  to  be 
merged  before  it  could  be  recognised.  But  about 
this  matter  he  meant  to  think ;  and  the  first  result  of 
his  determination  was  (as  it  often  is  in  such  a  case) 
that  nothing  at  all  relevant  would  stay  by  him. 
There  was  a  man  fishing  near,  and  he  watched  the 
float;  he  looked  long  at  the  big  hotel  at  Puys,  which 
faced  him  a  mile  away,  and  idly  wondered  whether  it 
were  full ;  he  followed  the  egress  of  a  fishing  boat 
with  strict  attention.  Then,  in  impatience,  he  turned 
round  and  sat  down  on  the  stone  bench  and  let  his 
eyes  see  nothing  but  the  flags  of  the  pavement.  Even 
then  he  hardly  thought ;  but  after  a  time  he  became 

(200) 


THE  LAST  BARRIERS.  20 1 

vaguely  occupied  with  Maggie  Dennison,  his  mind 
playing  to  and  fro  over  her  voice,  her  tricks  of  man- 
ner, her  very  gait,  and  at  last  settling  more  or  less 
resolutely  on  the  strange  revelation  of  herself  which 
she  had  gradually  made  and  had  consummated  that 
day.  It  changed  his  feelings  towards  her;  but 
it  did  not  change  them  to  contempt.  He  had  his 
ideas,  but  he  did  not  make  ideal  figures  out  of  human- 
ity;  and  humanity  could  go  very  far  wrong  and  sink 
very  deep  in  its  lower  possibilities  without  shocking 
him.  Nor  did  he  understand  her,  nor  realise  how 
great  a  struggle  had  brought  what  he  saw  to  birth. 
It  seemed  to  him  a  thing  not  unnatural,  even  in  her, 
who  was  in  much  unlike  most  other  women.  There 
are  dominions  that  are  not  to  be  resisted,  and  we  do 
not  think  people  weak  simply  because  they  are  under 
our  own  influence.  His  surprise  was  reserved  for  the 
counter-influence  which  he  felt,  and  strove  not  to  ac- 
knowledge; his  contempt  for  the  disturbance  into 
which  he  himself  was  thrown.  At  that  he  was  half- 
displeased,  puzzled,  and  alarmed  ;  yet  that,  too,  had 
its  delight. 

"  What  rot  it  is !"  he  muttered,  in  the  rude  dialect 
of  self-communion,  which  sums  up  a  bewildering  con- 
flict in  a  word  of  slang. 

He  was  afraid  of  himself — and  his  exclamation  be- 
trayed the  fear.  Men  of  strong  will  are  not  all  will ; 
the  strong  will  has  other  strong  things  to  fight,  and 


202  THE  GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

the   strong   head    has   mighty  rebels   to   hold    down- 
That  he  felt ;  but  his  fear  of  himself  had  its  limits. 
He  was  not  the  man — as  he  saw  very  well  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  recognised  with  an  odd  mixture  of  pride 
and   humiliation — to   give  up  his   life  to  a  passion. 
Had  that  been  the  issue  clearly  and  definitely  set  be- 
fore him  he  would  not  have  sat  doubtful  on  the  jetty. 
He  understood  what  of  nobility  lay  in  such  a  tempera- 
ment, and  his  humiliation  was  because  it  made  no 
part  of  him  ;  but  the  pride  overmastered,  and  at  last 
he  was  glad  to  say  to  himself  that  there  was  no  danger 
of  his  losing  all  for  love.    Indeed,  was  he  in  love  ?    In 
love  in  the  grand  sense  people  talked  and  wrote  about 
so  much?     Well,  there  were  other  senses,  and  there 
were   many  degrees.     The   question   he  weighed,  or 
rather  the  struggle  which  he  was  undergoing,  was  be- 
tween resisting  or  yielding  before  a  temptation  to  take 
into  his  life  something  which  should  not  absorb  it,  but 
yet  in  a  measure  alter  it,  which  allured  him  all  the 
more  enticingly  because,  judging  as  he  best  could,  he 
could  see  no  price  which  must  be  paid  for  it — well, 
except  one.     And,  as  the  one  came  into  his  mind,  it 
made  him  pause,  and  he  mused  on  it,  looking  at  it  in 
all  lights.     Sometimes  he  put  the  price  as  an  act  of 
wrong  which  would  stain  him — for,  apart  from  other, 
maybe  greater,  maybe  more  fanciful  obstacles,  Harry 
Dennison  held  him  for  a  friend — sometimes  as  an  act 
of  weakness  which  would  leave  him  vulnerable.     And, 


THE  LAST   BARRIERS.  203 

after  these  attempted  reasonings,  he  would  fall  again 
to  thinking  of  Maggie  Dennison,  her  voice,  her  man- 
ner, and  the  revelation  of  herself ;  and  in  these  pic- 
turings  the  reasoning  died  away. 

There  are  a  few  deliberate  sinners,  a  few  by  whom 
"  Evil,  be  thou  my  Good  "  is  calmly  uttered  as  a  dedi- 
cation and  a  sacrament,  but  most  men  do  not  make 
up  their  minds  to  be  sinners  or  determine  in  cool  re- 
solve to  do  acts  of  the  sort  that  lurked  behind  Willie 
Huston's  picturings.     They  only  fail  to  make  up  their 
minds  not  to  do  them.     Euston,  in  a  fury  of  impa- 
tience, swept  all   his  musings   from  him — it   led   to 
nothing.     It  left  him  where  he  was.     He  was  vexing 
himself  needlessly;  he  told  himself  that  he  could  not 
decide  what  he  ought  to  do.     In  truth,  he  did  not 
choose  to  decide  what  it  was  that  he  chose  to  do. 
And  with  the  thoughts  that  he  drove  away  went  the 
depression  they  had  carried  with  them.     He  was  con- 
fident again  in  himself,  his  destiny,  his  career ;  and  in 
its  fancied  greatness,  the  turmoil  he  had  suffered  sank 
to  its  small  proportions.    He  returned  to  his  old  stand- 
point, and  to  the  old  medley  of  pride  and  shame  it 
gave  him  ;   he  might  be  of  supreme  importance  to 
Maggie  Dennison,  but  she  was  only  of  some  impor- 
tance to  him.     He  could  live  without  her.     But,  at 
present,  he  regarded  her  loss  as  a  thing  not  necessary 
to  undergo. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  that  he  met  young  Sir  Wal- 


201  THE   GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

ter,  who  ran  to  him,  open-mouthed  with  news.  Walter 
was  afraid  that  the  news  would  be  unpalatable,  and 
could  not  understand  such  want  of  tact  in  Seming- 
ham.  To  ask  Tom  Loring  while  Huston  was  there 
argued  a  bluntness  of  perception  strange  to  young 
Sir  Walter.  But,  be  the  news  good  or  bad,  he  had 
only  to  report ;  and  report  it  he  did  straightway  to 
his  chief.  Willie  Huston  smiled,  and  said  that,  if 
Loring  did  not  mind  meeting  him,  he  did  not  mind 
meeting  Loring  ;  indeed,  he  would  welcome  the  op- 
portunity of  proving  to  that  unbeliever  that  there 
was  water  somewhere  within  a  hundred  miles  of 
Fort  Imperial  (which  Tom  in  one  of  those  arti- 
cles had  sturdily  denied).  Then  he  flirted  away  a 
stone  with  his  stick  and  asked  if  anyone  had  yet 
told  Mrs.  Dennison.  And,  Sir  Walter  thinking  not, 
he  said, 

"  Oh,  well,  I'm  going  there.     I'll  tell  her." 

"  She'll  know  why  he's  coming,"  said  Walter,  nod- 
ding his  head  wisely. 

"Will  she?  Do  you  know?"  asked  Huston  with 
a  smile — young  Sir  Walter's  wisdom  was  always  sure 
of  that  tribute  from  him. 

"  If  you'd  seen  Adela  Ferrars,  you'd  know  too. 
She  tries  to  make  believe  it's  nothing,  but  she's — oh, 
shc's " 

"Well?" 

"  She's  all  of  a  flutter,"  laughed  Walter. 


THE   LAST   BARRIERS.  2<>5 

"  You've  got  to  the  bottom  of  that,"  said  Huston 
in  a  tone  of  conviction. 

"  Still,  I  think  it's  inconsiderate  of  Loring ;  he 
must  know  that  Mrs.  Dennison  will  find  it  rather 
awkward.  But,  of  course,  if  a  fellow's  in  love,  he 
won't  think  of  that." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  Willie  Huston,  smiling  again 
at  this  fine  scorn. 

Then,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  struck  perhaps  with 
an  envy  of  what  he  laughed  at,  he  put  his  arm 
through  his  young  friend's,  and  exclaimed,  with  a 
friendly  confidential  pressure  of  the  hand, 

"  I  say,  Val,  I  wish  the  devil  we  were  in  Omofaga, 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  Eather ! "  came  full  and  rich  from  his  compan- 
ion's lips. 

"  With  a  few  thousand  miles  between  us  and  every- 
thing— and  everybody  !  " 

Young  Sir  Walter's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Off  in  three  months  now,"  he  reminded  his 
leader  exultingly. 

It  could  not  be.  The  Fates  will  not  help  in  such 
a  fashion,  it  is  not  their  business  to  cut  the  noose  a 
man  ties  round  his  neck — happy  is  he  if  they  do  not 
draw  it  tight.  With  a  sigh,  Willie  Ruston  dropped 
his  companion's  arm,  and  left  him  with  no  other  fare- 
well than  a  careless  nod.     Of  Tom  Loring's  coming 

he  thought  little.     It  might  be  that  Sir  Walter  had 
14 


206  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

seen  most  of  its  meaning,  and  that  Semingham  was 
acting  as  a  benevolent  match-maker — a  character 
strange  for  him,  and  amusing  to  see  played — but,  no 
doubt,  there  was  a  little  more.  Probably  Tom  had 
some  idea  of  turning  him  from  his  path,  of  combating 
his  influence,  of  disputing  his  power.  Well,  Tom  had 
tried  that  once,  and  had  failed ;  he  would  fail  again. 
Maggie  Dennison  had  not  hesitated  to  resent  such 
interference  ;  she  had  at  once  (Ruston  expressed  it  to 
himself)  put  Tom  in  his  right  place.  Tom  would  be 
no  more  to  her  at  Dieppe  than  in  London — nay,  he 
would  be  less,  for  any  power  unbroken  friendship  and 
habit  might  have  had  then  would  be  gone  by  now. 
Thus,  though  he  saw  the  other  meaning,  he  made  light 
of  it,  and  it  was  as  a  bit  of  gossip  concerning  Adela 
Ferrars,  not  as  tidings  which  might  affect  herself,  that 
he  told  Mrs.  Dennison  of  Tom's  impending  arrival. 

On  her  the  announcement  had  a  very  different 
effect.  For  her  the  whole  significance  lay  in  what 
Ruston  ignored,  and  none  in  what  had  caught  his 
fancy.  He  was  amazed  to  see  the  rush  of  colour  to 
her  cheeks. 

"  Tom  Loring  coming  here  !  "  she  cried  in  some- 
thing like  horror. 

Again,  and  with  a  laugh,  Ruston  pointed  out  the 
motive  of  his  coming,  as  young  Sir  Walter  had  inter- 
preted it;  but  he  added,  as  though  in  concession,  and 
with  another  laugh, 


THE   LAST   BARRIERS.  207 

"  Perhaps  he  wants  to  keep  his  eye  on  me,  too. 
He  doesn't  trust  me  further  than  lie  can  see  me,  you 
know." 

Without  looking  at  him  or  seeming  to  listen  to  his 
words,  she  asked,  in  low,  indignant  tones, 

"  How  dare  he  come  ?  " 

Willie  Huston  opened  his  eyes.  He  did  not  under- 
stand so  much  emotion  spent  on  such  a  trifle.  Say  it 
was  bad  taste  in  Loring  to  come,  or  an  impertinence  ! 
Well,  it  was  not  a  tragedy  at  all  events.  He  was 
almost  angry  with  her  for  giving  importance  to  it; 
and  the  importance  she  gave  set  him  wondering. 
But  before  he  could  translate  his  feeling  into  words, 
she  turned  to  him,  leaning  across  the  table  that  stood 
between  them,  and  clasping  her  hands. 

"  I  can't  bear  to  have  him  here  now,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"What  harm  will  he  do?  You  needn't  see  any- 
thing of  him,"  rejoined  Ruston,  more  astonished  at 
each  new  proof  of  disquietude  in  her. 

But  Tom  Loring  was  not  to  be  so  lightly  dis- 
missed from  her  mind  ;  and  she  did  not  seem  to  heed 
when  Ruston  added,  with  a  laugh, 

"  You  got  rid  of  him  once,  didn't  you  ?  I  should 
think  you  could  again." 

"  Ah,  then  !     That  was  different." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  She  was  agitated, 
but  there  seemed  to  be  more  than  agitation.     As  he 


208  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

read  it,  it  was  fear ;  and  discerning  it,  he  spoke  in 
growing  surprise  and  rising  irritation. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  were  afraid  of  him." 

"  Afraid  of  him  ?  "  she  broke  out.  "  Yes,  I  am 
afraid  of  him." 

"Of  Loring?"  he  exclaimed  in  sheer  wonder. 
"  Why,  in  heaven's  name  ?     Loring's  not " 

He  was  going  to  say  "  your  husband,"  but  stopped 
himself. 

"  I  can't  face  him,"  she  whispered.  "  Oh,  you 
know !  Why  do  you  torment  me  ?  Or  don't  you 
know  ?     Oh,  how  strange  you  are  !  " 

And  now  tnere  was  fear  in  her  eyes  when  she 
looked  at  Huston. 

He  sat  still  a  moment,  and  then  in  slow  tones  he  said, 

"  I  don't  see  what  concern  your  affairs  are  of  Lor- 
ing's, or  mine  either,  by  God  !  " 

At  the  last  word  his  voice  rose  a  little,  and  his  lips 
shut  tight  as  it  left  them. 

"  Oh,  it's  easy  for  you,"  she  said,  half  in  anger  at 
him,  half  in  scorn  of  herself.  "  You  don't  know  what 
he  is — what  he  was — to  me."    . 

"  What  was  Loring  to  you  ?  "  he  asked  in  sharp, 
imperious  tones — tones  that  made  her  hurriedly  cry, 

"  No,  no ;  not  that,  not  that.  How  could  you 
think  that  of  me  V  " 

tw  What  then  ?  "  came  curt  and  crisp  from  him,  her 
reproach  falling  unheeded. 


THE   LAST   BARRIERS.  209 

"  Oh,  I  wish — I  wish  you  could  understand  just  a 
little  !  Do  you  think  it's  all  nothing  to  me  ?  Do  you 
think  I  don't  mind  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is  to  you,"  fie  said  dog- 
gedly.     "  1  know  it's  nothing  to  Loring." 

"  I  don't  believe,"  she  went  on,  "  that  he's  coming 
because  of  Adela  at  all." 

And  as  she  spoke,  she  met  his  eyes  for  a  moment, 
and  then  shrank  from  them. 

"  Come,  shall  we  speak  plainly  ? "  he  asked  with 
evident  impatience. 

"  Ah,  you  will,  I  know,"  she  wailed,  with  a  smile 
and  a  despairing  gesture.  She  loved  and  dreaded 
him  for  it.     "  Not  too  plainly,  Willie  ! " 

His  mouth  relaxed. 

"  Why  do  you  worry  about  the  fellow  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Well,  I'll  speak  plainly,  too,"  she  cried.     "  He's 

not  a  fool ;  and  he's  an  honest    man.     That's  why  I 

don't   want  him   here  ; "  and  enduring  only  till   she 

had  flung  out  the  truth,  she  buried  her  face  in  her 

hands. 

"  I've   had   enough  of  him,"  said  Willie    Euston, 

frowning.     "  He's  always  got  in  my  way ;  first  about 

the  Company — and  now " 

He  broke  off,  pushing  his  chair  back,  and  rising  to 
his  feet.  He  walked  to  the  window  of  the  little  sit- 
ting-room where  they  were  ;  the  sun  was  setting  over 


210  THE  GOD  IN  THE   CAR. 

the  sea,  and  early  dusk  gathering.     It  was  still,  save 
for  the  sound  of  the  waves. 

"Is  there  nobody  at  home?"  he  asked,  with  his 
back  towards  her. 

"  No.  Marjory  and  the  children  have  gone  down 
to  the  Rome  to  have  tea  with  Bessie  Semingham." 

He  waited  a  moment  longer,  looking  out,  then  he 
came  back  and  stood  facing  her.  She  was  leaning 
her  head  on  her  hand.  At  last  she  spoke  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  lie's  Harry's  friend,"  she  said,  "  and  he  used  to 
be  mine  ;  and  he  trusted  me." 

Willie  Huston  threw  his  head  back  with  a  little 
sharp  jerk. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  didn't  come  to  talk  about  Tom  Lor- 
ing,"  be  said.  "If  you  value  his  opinion  so  very 
much,  why,  you  must  keep  it ;  that's  all,"  and  he 
moved  towards  where  his  hat  was  lying.  "  But  I'm 
afraid  I  can't  share  my  friends  with  him." 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  won't  share  anything  with  any- 
body," said  Maggie  Dennison,  iier  voice  trembling 
between  a  sob  and  a  laugh. 

He  turned  instantly.  His  face  lighted  up,  and  the 
sun,  casting  its  last  rays  on  her  eyes,  made  tbem 
answer  with  borrowed  brilliance. 

"  I  won't  share  you  with  Loring,  anyhow,"  he 
cried,  walking  close  up  to  her,  and  resting  his  hand 
on  the  table. 


THE  LAST  BARRIERa  211 

She  laid  hers  gently  on  it. 

"  Don't  go  to  Omofaga,  Willie,"  she  said. 

For  a  moment  he  sheerly  stared  at  her ;  then  he 
hurst  into  a  merry  unrestrained  peal  of  laughter. 
Next  he  lifted  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  You  are  the  most  wonderful  woman  in  the 
world,"  said  he,  his  mouth  quivering  with  amuse- 
ment. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  throwing  her  arms  wide 
for  a  moment. 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter  ?  What  have  I  done 
wrong  now  ?  " 

She  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  I  wish  I'd  never  seen  you,"  she  said  from  the 
far  end  of  it. 

"  I  wish  I'd  never  seen — Tom  Loring." 

"  Ah,  that's  the  only  thing  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  may 
live  or  I  may  die,  or  I  may — do  anything  you  like ; 
hut  I  mustn't  have  another  friend  !  I  mustn't  give  a 
thought  to  what  anybody  else  thinks  of  me  !  " 

"  You  mustn't  balance  me  against  Tom  Loring," 
he  answered  between  his  teeth,  all  signs  of  his  merri- 
ment gone  now. 

For  a  moment — not  long,  but  seeming  very  long — 
there  was  silence  in  the  room ;  and,  while  the  brief 
stillness  reigned,  she  fought  a  last  battle  against  him, 
calling  loyalty  and  friendship  to  her  aid,  praying  their 
alliance  against  the  overbearing  demand  he  made  on 


212  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

her — against  his  roughness,  his  blindness  to  all  she 
suffered  for  him.  But  the  strife  was  short.  Lifting 
her  hands  above  her  head,  and  bringing  them  down 
through  the  air  as  with  a  blow,  she  cried, 

"  My  God,  I  balance  nothing  against  you  !  " 

Her    reward — her   onlv    reward — seemed    on    the 

at 

instant  to  be  hers.  Willie  Ruston  was  transformed ; 
his  sullenness  was  gone  ;  his  eyes  were  alight  with 
triumph  ;  the  smile  she  loved  was  on  his  lips,  and 
he  had  forgotten  those  troubled,  useless,  mazy  mus- 
ings on  the  jetty.  He  took  a  quick  step  towards 
her,  holding  out  both  his  hands.  She  clasped 
them. 

"  Nothing  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  tone.  "  Nothing, 
Maggie  ?  " 

She  bowed  her  head  for  answer  ;  it  was  the  attitude 
of  surrender,  of  helplessness,  and  of  trust,  and  it  ap- 
pealed to  the  softer  feeling  in  him  which  her  resistance 
had  smothered.  He  was  strongly  moved,  and  his  face 
was  pale  as  he  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  lips; 
but  all  he  said  was, 

"  Then  the  deuce  take  Tom  Loring  !  " 

It  seemed  to  her  enough.  The  light  devil-may- 
care  words  surely  covered  a  pledge  from  him  to  her — 
something  in  return  from  him  to  her.  At  last,  surely 
he  was  hers,  and  her  wishes  his  law.  It  was  her  mo- 
ment; she  would  ask  of  him  now  the  uttermost  wish 
of  her  heart — the  wish  that  had  displaced  all  else — 


THE  LAST   BARRIERS.  213 

the  passionate  wish  not  to  lose  him — not,  as  it  were, 
to  be  emptied  of  him. 

"And  Omofaga?"  she  whispered. 

His  eyes  looked  past  her,  out  into  the  dim  twilight, 
into  the  broad  world — the  world  that  she  seemed  to 
ask  him  to  give  for  her,  as  she  was  giving  her  world 
for  him.  He  laughed  again,  but  not  as  he  had  laughed 
before.  There  was  a  note  of  wonder  in  his  laugh  now 
— of  wonder  that  the  prayer  seemed  now  not  so  utterly 
absurd — that  he  could  imagine  himself  doing  even 
that — spoiling  his  heart  of  its  darling  ambition — for 
her.  Yet,  even  in  that  moment  of  her  strongest  sway, 
as  her  arms  were  about  him,  he  was  swearing  to  him- 
self that  he  would  not. 

She  did  not  press  for  an  answer.  A  glance  into 
his  distant  eyes  gave  her  one,  perhaps,  for  she  sighed 
as  though  in  pain.  Hearing  her,  he  bent  his  look 
on  her  again.  Though  he  might  deny  that  last 
boon,  he  had  given  her  much.  So  she  read ;  and, 
drawing  herself  to  her  full  height,  she  released  one 
of  her  hands  from  his,  and  held  it  out  to  him.  For 
a  moment  he  hesitated;  then  a  slow  smile  breaking 
on  his  face,  he  bent  and  kissed  it,  and  she  whispered 
over  his  bent  head,  half  in  triumph,  half  in  apology 
for  bidding  him  bend  his  head  even  in  love, 

"  I  like  pretending  to  be  queen — even  with  you, 
Willie." 

Her  flattery,  so  sweet  to  him,  because  it  was  wrung 


21J.  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

from  her  all  against  her  will,  and  was  for  him  alone 
of  men,  thrilled  through  him  and  he  was  drawing  her 
to  him  again  when  the  merry  chatter  of  a  child  struck 
on  their  ears  from  the  garden. 

She  shrank  back. 

"  Hark  ! "  she  murmured.     "  They're  coming." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  frown.  "  I  shall  come  to- 
morrow, Maggie." 

"  To-morrow  ?     Every  day  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Well,  then,  every  day.     But  to-morrow  all  day." 

"  Ah,  yes,  all  day  to-morrow." 

"  But  I  must  go  now." 

"  No,  no,  don't  go,"  she  said  quickly.  "  Sit  down  ; 
see,  sit  there.  Don't  look  as  if  you'd  thought  of  go- 
mg." 

He  did  as  she  bade  him,  trying  to  assume  an  in- 
different air. 

She,  too,  sat  down,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  door.  A 
strange  look  of  pain  and  shame  spread  over  her  face. 
She  must  bend  to  deceive  her  children,  to  dread  de- 
tection, to  play  little  tricks  and  weave  little  devices 
against  the  eyes  of  those  for  whom  she  had  been  an 
earthly  providence— the  highest,  most  powerful,  and 
best  they  knew.  Willie  Huston  did  not  follow  the 
thought  that  stamped  its  mark  on  her  face  then,  nor 
understand  why,  with  a  sudden  gasp,  she  dashed  her 
hand  across  her  eyes  and  turned  to  him  with  trem- 
bling lips,  crying,  in  low  tones, 


THE   LAST   BARRIERS.  215 

"  Ah,  but  I  have  yon,  Willie!" 

Before  he  could  answer  her  appeal,  the  voices  were 
in  the  passage.  Her  face  grew  calm,  save  for  a  slight 
frown  on  her  brow.  She  shaped  her  lips  into  a  smile 
to  meet  the  incomers.  She  shot  a  rapid  glance  of 
caution  and  warning  at  him.  The  door  was  flung 
open,  and  the  three  children  rushed  in,  Madge  at 
their  head.  Madge,  seeing  Willie  Huston,  stopped 
short,  and  her  laughter  died  away.  She  turned  and 
said, 

"  Marjory,  here's  Mr.  Ruston." 

None  could  mistake  her  tone  for  one  of  welcome. 

Marjory  Valentine  came  forward.  She  looked  at 
neither  of  them,  but  sat  down  near  the  table. 

"  Well,  Madge,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison,  "  there's  good 
news  for  you,  isn't  there  ?     Your  friend's  coming." 

Madge,  finding  (as  she  thought)  sympathy,  came 
to  her  mother's  knee. 

"  Yes,  I'm  glad,"  she  said.  "  Are  you  glad, mother?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  answered  Mrs.  Dennison, 
kissing  her;  but  she  could  not  help  one  glance  at 
Willie  Ruston.  Bitterly  she  repented  it,  for  she 
found  Marjory  Valentine  following  it  with  her  open 
sorrowful  eyes.  She  rose  abruptly,  and  Ruston  rose 
also,  and  witb  brief  good-nights — Madge  being  kissed 
only  on  strong  persuasion — took  his  leave.  The  chil- 
dren flocked  away  to  take  off  their  hats,  and  Marjory 
wras  left  alone  with  her  hostess. 


21G  THE   GOD   IN   TBE  CAR. 

The  girl  looked  pale,  weary,  and  sad.  Mrs.  Den- 
nison  was  stirred  to  an  impulse  of  compassion.  Walk- 
ing up  to  where  she  sat,  she  bent  down  as  though  to 
kiss  her.  Marjory  looked  up.  There  was  a  question 
— it  seemed  to  be  a  question — in  her  face.  Mrs.  Den- 
nison  flushed  red  from  neck  to  forehead,  and  then 
grew  paler  than  the  pallor  she  had  pitied.  The  girl's 
uuspoken  question  seemed  to  echo  hauntingly  from 
every  corner  of  the  little  room,  Are  your  lips — clean? 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

A    SOUND    IN   THE    NIGHT. 

Slow  in  forming,  swift  iu  acting;  slow  in  the 
making,  swift  in  the  working;  slow  to  the  summit, 
swift  down  the  other  slope ;  it  is  the  way  of  nature, 
and  the  way  of  the  human  mind.  What  seemed  yes- 
terday unborn  and  impossible,  is  to-day  incipient  and 
a  great  way  off,  to-morrow  complete,  present,  and  ac- 
complished. After  long  labour  a  thing  springs  forth 
full  grown ;  to  deny  it,  or  refuse  it,  or  fight  against  it, 
seems  now  as  vain  as  a  few  hours  ago  it  was  to  hope 
for  it,  or  to  fear,  or  to  imagine,  or  conceive  it.  In 
like  manner,  the  slow,  crawling,  upward  journey  can 
be  followed  by  every  eye ;  its  turns,  its  twists,  its 
checks,  its  zigzags  may  be  recorded  on  a  chart.  Then 
is  the  brief  pause — on  the  summit — and  the  tottering 
incline  towards  the  declivity.  But  how  describe  what 
comes  after?  The  dazzling  rush  that  beats  the  eye, 
that  in  its  fury  of  advance,  its  paroxysm  of  speed,  is 
void  of  halts  or  turns,  and,  darting  from  point  to 
point,  covers  and  blurs  the  landscape  till  there  seems 

(217) 


218  THE   GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

nothing  but  the  moving  thing;  and  that  again,  while 
the  watcher  still  tries  vainly  to  catch  its  whirl,  has 
sprung,  and  reached,  and  ceased  ;  and,  save  that  there 
it  was  and  here  it  is,  he  would  not  know  that  its  fierce 
stir  had  been. 

Such  a  race  runs  passion  to  its  goal,  when  the  reins 
hang  loose.  Hours  may  do  what  years  have  not  done, 
and  minutes  sum  more  changes  than  long  days  could 
stretch  to  hold.  The  world  narrows  till  there  would 
seem  to  be  nothing  else  existent  in  it — nothing  of  all 
that  once  held  out  the  promise  (sure  as  it  then  claimed 
to  be)  of  escape,  of  help,  or  warning.  The  very  prom- 
ise is  forgotten,  the  craving  for  its  fulfilment  dies 
away.  "  Let  me  alone,"  is  the  only  cry ;  and  the  ap- 
peal makes  its  own  answer,  the  entreaty  its  own  con- 
cession. 

Some  thirty  hours  had  passed  since  the  last 
recorded  scene,  and  Marjory  Valentine  was  still  under 
Mrs.  Dennison's  roof.  It  had  been  hard  to  stay,  but 
the  girl  would  not  give  up  her  self-imposed  hopeless 
task.  Helpless  she  had  proved,  and  hopeless  she  had 
become.  The  day  had  passed  with  hardly  a  word 
spoken  between  her  and  her  hostess.  Mrs.  Dennison 
had  been  out  the  greater  part  of  the  time,  and,  when 
out,  she  had  been  with  Ruston.  She  had  come  in  to 
dinner  at  half-past  seven,  and  at  nine  had  gone  to  her 
room,  pleading  fatigue  and  a  headache.  Marjory  had 
sat  up  a  little  longer,  with  an  unopened  book  on  her 


A   SOUND   IN   THE   NIGHT.  210 

knee.     Then  she  also  went  to  bed,  and  tried  vainly  to 
sleep.     She  had  left  her  bed  now,  and,  wrapped  in  a 
dressing-gown,  sat  in  a  low  arm-chair  near  the  win- 
dow.    It  was  a  dark  and  still  night;  a  thick  fog  hung 
over  the  little  garden ;  nothing  was  to  be  heard  save 
the  gentle  roll  of  a  quiet  sea,  and  the  occasional  blast 
of  a  steam  whistle.     Marjory's  watch  had  stopped,  but 
she  guessed  it  to  be  somewhere  in  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning — one  o'clock,  perhaps,  or  nearing  two. 
There  was  an  infinite  Aveary  time,  then,  before  the  sun 
would  shine  again,  and  the  oppression  of  the  misty 
darkness  be  lifted  off.      She   hated   the  night— this 
night — it  savoured  not  of  rest  to  her,  but  of  death ; 
for  sbe  was  wrought  to  a  nervous  strain,  and  felt  her 
imaginings  taking   half-bodily  shapes   about   her,  so 
that  she  was  fearful  of  looking  to  the  right  hand  or 
the  left.     Sleep  was  impossible  ;  to  try  to  sleep  like  a 
surrender  to  the  mysterious  enemies  round  her.    Time 
seemed  to  stand  still ;  she  counted  sixty  once,  to  mark 
a  minute's  flight,  and  the  counting  took  an  eternity. 
The  house  was  utterly  noiseless,  and  she  shivered  at 
the  silence.     She  would  have  given  half  her  life,  she 
felt,  for  a  ray  of  the  sun ;  but  half  a  life  stretched  be- 
tween her  and  the  first  break  of  morning.     Sitting 
there,  she  heaped  terrors  round  her;  the  superstitions 
that  hide  their  heads  before  daytime  mockery  reared 
them  now  in  victory  and  made  a  prey  of  her.     The 
struggle  she  had  in  her  weakness  entered  on  seemed 


220  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

less  now  with  human  frailty  than  against  the  strong 
and  evil  purpose  of  some  devil ;  in  face  of  which  she 
was  naught.  How  should  she  be?  She  had  not,  she 
told  herself  in  morbid  upbraiding,  even  a  pure  motive 
in  the  fight;  her  hatred  of  the  sin  had  been  less  keen 
had  she  not  once  desired  the  love  of  him  that  caused 
it,  and  when  she  arrested  Maggie  Dennison's  kiss,  she 
shamed  a  rival  in  rebuking  an  unfaithful  wife.  Then 
she  cried  rebelliously  against  her  anguish.  Why  had 
this  come  on  her,  darkening  bright  youth?  Why  was 
she  compassed  about  wfth  trouble?  And  why — why 
— why  did  not  the  morning  come? 

The  mist  was  thick  and  grey  against  the  window. 
A  fog-horn  roared,  and  the  sea,  regardless,  repeated 
its  even  beat;  behind  the  feeble  interruptions  there 
sounded  infinite  silence.  She  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands.  Then  she  leapt  up  and  flung  the  window  open 
wide.  The  damp  fog-folds  settled  on  her  face,  but 
she  heard  the  sea  more  plainly,  and  there  were  sounds 
in  the  air  about  her.  It  was  not  so  terribly  quiet. 
She  peered  eagerly  through  the  mist,  but  saw  nothing 
save  vague  tremulous  shapes,  vacant  of  identity.  Still 
the  world,  the  actual,  earthly,  healthy  world,  was 
there — a  refuge  from  imagination. 

She  stood  looking ;  and,  as  she  looked,  one  shape 
seemed  to  grow  into  a  nearer  likeness  of  something 
definite.  It  was  motionless;  it  differed  from  the  rest 
only  in  being  darker  and  of  rather  sharper  outline. 


A  SOUND   IN  THE   NIGHT.  221 

It  must  bo  a  tree,  she  thought,  but  remembered  no 
tree  there ;  the  garden  held  only  low-growing  shrubs. 
A  post?  But  the  gate  lay  to  the  right,  and  this  stood 
on  her  left  hand,  hard  by  the  door  of  the  house. 
What  then?  The  terror  came  on  her  again,  but  she 
stood  and  looked,  longing  to  find  some  explanation 
for  it — some  meaning  on  which  her  mind  could  rest, 
and,  reassured,  drive  away  its  terrifying  fancies.  For 
the  shape  was  large  in  the  mist,  and  she  could  not  tell 
what  it  might  mean.  Was  it  human  ?  On  her  super- 
stitious mood  the  thought  flashed  bright  with  sudden 
relief,  and  she  cried  beseechingly, 

«  Who  is  it  ?     Who  is  there  ?  " 

A  human  voice  in  answer  would  have  been  heaven 
to  her,  but  no  answer  came.  With  a  stifled  cry,  she 
shut  the  window  down,  and  stood  a  moment,  listening 
— eager,  yet  fearful,  to  hear.  Hark  !  Yes,  there  was 
a  sound!  What  was  it?  It  was  a  footstep  on  the 
gravel — a  slow,  uncertain,  wavering,  intermittent  step, 
as  though  of  someone  groping  with  hesitating  feet 
and  doubtful  resolution  through  the  mist.  She  must 
know  what  it  was — who  it  was — what  it  meant.  She 
started  up  again,  laying  both  hands  on  the  window- 
sash.  But  then  terror  conquered  curiosity;  gasping 
as  if  breath  failed  her  and  something  still  pursued,  she 
ran  across  the  room  and  flung  open  the  door.  She 
must  find  someone — Maggie  or  someone. 

On  the  threshold  she  paused  in  amazement.     The 
15 


222  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

door  of  Mrs.  Dennison's  room  was  open,  and  Maggie 
stood  in  the  doorway,  holding  a  candle,  behind  which 
her  face  gleamed  pale  and  her  eyes  shone.  She  was 
muffled  in  a  long  white  wrapper,  and  her  dark  hair 
fell  over  her  shoulders.  The  candle  shook  in  her 
hand,  but,  on  sight  of  Marjory,  her  lips  smiled  beneath 
her  deep  shining  eyes.     Marjory  ran  to  her  crying, 

"  Is  it  you,  Maggie  ?  " 

"  Who  should  it  be  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Dennison,  still 
smiling,  so  well  as  her  fast-beating  breath  allowed  her. 
"  Why  aren't  you  in  bed  ?  " 

The  girl  grasped  her  hand,  and  pushed  her  back 
into  the  room. 

"Maggie,  I Hark  !  there  it  is  again  !    There's 

something  outside — there,  in  the  garden  !  If  you  open 
the  window " 

As  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Dennison  darted  quick  on  silent 
naked  feet  to  the  window,  and  stood  by  it;  but  she 
seemed  rather  to  intercept  approach  to  it  than  to 
think  of  opening  it.  Indeed  there  was  no  need.  The 
slow  uncertain  step  sounded  again  ;  there  were  five  or 
six  seeming  footfalls,  and  the  women  stood  motionless, 
listening  to  them.  Then  there  was  stillness  outside, 
matching  the  hush  within ;  till  Maggie  Dennison, 
tearing  the  wrapper  loose  from  her  throat,  said  in  low 
tones, 

"  I  hear  nothing  outside  ;"  and  she  put  the  candle 
on  the  table  by  her.     "  You  can  see  nothing  for  the 


A  SOUND   IN  THE  NIGHT.  223 

fog,"  she  added  as  she  gazed  through  tho  glass.     Her 
tone  was  strangely  full  of  relief. 

"  I  opened  the  window,"  whispered  Marjory,  "  and 
I  Silw — I  thought  I  saw — something.  And  then  I  heard 
— that.     You  heard  it,  Maggie?" 

The  girl  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  Mrs.  Dennison,  who  leant  against  the 
window-sash  with  a  strained,  alert,  watchful  look  on 
her  face. 

"  I  heard  you  open  the  window  and  call  out  some- 
thing," she  said.     "  That's  all  I  heard." 

"  But  just  now — just  now  as  we  stood  here?" 

Mrs.  Dennison  did  not  answer  for  a  moment ;  her 
ear  was  almost  against  the  panes,  and  her  face  was 
like  a  runner's  as  he  waits  for  the  starter's  word. 
There  was  nothing  but  the  gentle  beat  of  the  sea. 
Mrs.  Dennison  pushed  her  hair  back  over  her  shoul- 
ders and  sighed ;  her  tense  frame  relaxed,  and  the 
fixed  smile  on  her  lips  seemed,  in  broadening,  to  lose 
something  of  its  rigidity. 

"  No,  I  didn't,  you  silly  child,"  she  said.  "  You're 
full  of  fancies,  Marjory." 

The  curl  of  her  lip  and  the  shrug  of  her  shoulders 
won  no  attention. 

"  It  went  across  the  garden  from  the  door — across 
towards  the  gate,"  said  Marjory,  "  towards  the  path 
down.  I  heard  it.  It  came  from  near  the  door.  I 
heard  it." 


224:  THE  GOD  IN  TIIE  CAR. 

Mrs.  Dermison  shook  her  head.  The  girl  sprung 
forward  and  again  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"  You  heard  too  ?  "  she  cried.  "  I  know  you  heard  ! " 
and  a  challenge  rang  in  her  voice. 

"  I  didn't  hear,"  she  repeated  impatiently,  "  hut  I 
daresay  you  did.  Perhaps  it  was  a  man — a  thief,  or 
somebody  lost  in  the  fog.  Would  you  like  me  to  wake 
the  footman?  I  can  tell  him  to  take  a  lantern  and 
look  if  anyone's  in  the  garden." 

Marjory  took  no  notice  of  the  offer. 

"  But  if  it  was  anyone,  he'll  have  gone  now,"  con- 
tinued Maggie  Dennison,  "your  opening  the  window 
will  have  frightened  him.  You  made  such  a  noise — 
you  woke  me  up." 

"  Were  you  asleep  ?  "  came  in  quick  question. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Dennison  steadily,  "  I  was 
asleep.     Couldn't  you  sleep  ?  " 

"  Sleep  ?     No,  I  couldn't  sleep.     I  was  afraid." 

"  You're  as  bad  as  the  children,"  said  Mrs.  Denni- 
son, laughing  gently.  "  Come,  go  back  to  bed.  Shall 
I  come  and  sit  by  you  till  it's  light?  " 

The  girl  seemed  not  to  hear;  she  drew  nearer, 
searching  Mrs.  Dennison's  face  with  suspicious  eyes. 
Maggie  could  not  face  her  ;  she  dropped  her  glance  to 
the  floor  and  laughed  nervously  and  fretfully.  Sud- 
denly Marjory  threw  herself  on  the  floor  at  her  friend's 
feet. 

"  Maggie,  come  away  from  here,"  she  beseeched. 


A   SOUND   IN   THE   NIGHT.  225 

"  Do  come ;  do  come  away  directly.  Maggie,  dear,  I 
love  you  so,  and — and  I  was  unkind  last  night.  Do 
come,  darling  !  We'll  go  back  together — back  home," 
and  she  burst  into  sobbing. 

Maggie  Dennison  stood  passive  and  motionless,  her 
hands  by  her  side.  Her  lips  quivered  and  she  looked 
down  at  the  girl  kneeling  at  her  feet. 

"  Won't  you  come  ?  "  moaned  Marjory.  "  Oh,  Mag- 
gie, there's  still  time  ! " 

Mrs.  Dennison  knew  what  she  meant.  A  strange 
smile  came  over  her  face.  Yes,  there  was  time ;  in  a 
sense  there  was  time,  for  the  uncertain  footfalls  had 
not  reached  their  goal — arrested  by  that  cry  from  the 
window,  they  had  stopped — wavered — retreated — and 
were  gone.  Because  a  girl  had  not  slept,  there  was 
time.  Yet  what  difference  did  it  make  that  there  was 
still  time — to-night?  Since  to-morrow  was  coming 
and  must  come. 

"  Time  !  "  she  echoed  in  a  whisper. 

"  For  God's  sake,  come,  Maggie  !  Come  to-mor- 
row— you  and  the  children.  Come  back  with  them  to 
England  !     Maggie,  I  can't  stay  here  ! " 

Mrs.  Dennison  put  out  her  hands  and  took  Mar- 
jory's. 

"  Get  up,"  she  said,  almost  roughly,  and  dragged 
the  girl  to  her  feet.  "You  can  go,  Marjory;  I— I 
suppose  you're  not  happy  here.     You  can  go." 

"  And  you  ?  " 


226  THE   GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

"  I  shan't  go,"  said  Maggie  Dennison. 

Marjory,  standing  now,  shrank  back  from  her. 

"  You  won't  go  ?  "  she  whispered.  "  Why,  what 
are  you  staying  for  ?  " 

"  You  forget,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison  coldly.  "  I'm 
waiting  for  my  husband." 

"  Oh ! "  moaned  Marjory,  a  world  of  misery  and 
contempt  in  her  voice. 

At  the  tone  Mrs.  Dennison's  face  grew  rigid,  and, 
if  it  could  be,  paler  than  before  ;  she  had  been  called 
"  liar  "  to  her  face,  and  truly.  It  was  lost  to-night 
her  madness  mourned — hoped  for  to-morrow  that  held 
her  in  her  place. 

The  fog  was  lifting  outside ;  the  darkness  grew 
less  dense-;  a  distant,  dim,  cold  light  began  to  reveal 
the  day. 

"  See,  it's  morning,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison.  "  You 
needn't  be  afraid  any  longer.  Won't  you  go  back  to 
your  own  room,  Marjory  ?  " 

Marjory  nodded.  She  wore  a  helpless  bewildered 
look,  and  she  did  not  speak.  She  started  to  cross  the 
room,  when  Mrs.  Dennison  asked  her, 

"Do  you  mean  to  go  this  morning?  I  suppose 
the  Semingbams  will  take  you,  if  you  like.  We  can 
make  some  excuse  if  you  like." 

Marjory  stood  still,  then  she  sank  on  a  chair 
near  her,  and  began  to  sob  quietly.  Mrs.  Denni- 
son slowly  walked  to  her,  and  stood  by  her.     Then, 


A   SOUND   IN  THE   NIGHT.  227 

gently  and  timidly,  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's 
head. 

"  Don't  cry,"  she  said.     "  Why  should  you  cry?" 

Marjory  clutched  her  hand,  crying, 

"  Maggie,  Maggie,  don't,  don't !  " 

Mrs.  Dennison's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  let  her 
hand  lie  passive  till  the  girl  released  it,  and,  looking 
up,  said, 

"  I'm  not  going,  Maggie.  I  shall  stay.  Don't 
send  me  away !  Let  me  stay  till  Mr.  Dennison 
comes." 

"  What's  the  use?     You're  unhappy  here." 

"  Can't  I  help  you  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  so  low  that  it 
seemed  as  though  she  were  afraid  to  hear  her  own 
voice. 

Mrs.  Dennison's  self-control  suddenly  gave  way. 

"  Help  !  "  she  cried  recklessly.  "  No,  you  can't 
help.  Nobody  can  help.  It's  too  late  for  anyone  to 
help  now." 

The  girl  raised  her  head  with  a  start. 

"  Too  late  !     Maggie,  you  mean ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,"  cried  Mrs.  Dennison,  and  then  her 
eager  cry  died  swiftly  away. 

Wliy  protest  in  horror  ?  By  no  grace  of  hers  was 
it  that  it  was  not  too  late.  The  girl's  eyes  were  on 
her,  and  she  stammered, 

"  I  mean  nothing — nothing.  Yes,  you  must  go. 
I  hate — no,  no  !     Marjory,  don't  push  me  away  !     Let 


228  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

me  touch  you  !     There's  no  reason  1  shouldn't  touch 
you.     I  mean,  I  love  you,  but — I  can't  have  you  here." 

"Why  not?"  came  from  the  girl  in  slow,  strong 
tones. 

A  moment  later,  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  eyes 
full  of  new  horror,  as  the  vague  suspicion  grew  to  a 
strange  undoubting  certainty. 

"  Who  was  it  in  the  garden?  Who  was  out  there? 
Maggie,  if  I  hadn't ?" 

She  could  not  end.  On  the  last  words  her  voice 
sank  to  a  fearful  whisper  ;  when  she  had  uttered  them 
— with  their  unfinished,  yet  plain  and  naked,  question 
— she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  listening  for  the  an- 
swer. 

A  minute — two  minutes — passed.  There  was  no 
sound  but  Maggie  Dennison's  quick  breathings ;  once 
she  started  forward  with  her  lips  parted  as  if  to  speak, 
and  a  look  of  defiance  on  her  face ;  once  too,  entreaty, 
hope,  tenderness  dawned  for  a  moment.  In  anger  or 
in  sorrow,  the  truth  was  hard  on  being  uttered  ;  but 
the  impulse  failed.  She  arrested  the  words  on  her  lips, 
and  with  an  angry  jerk  of  her  head,  said  petulantly, 

"  Oh,  you're  a  silly  girl,  and  you  make  me  silly  too. 
There's  nothing  the  matter.  I  don't  know  who  it  was 
or  what  it  was.  Very  likely  it  was  nothing.  I  heard 
nothing.  It  was  all  your  imagination."  Her  voice 
grew  harder,  colder,  more  restrained  as  she  went  on. 
"  Don't  think  about  what  I've  said  to-night — and  don't 


A  SOUND   IN   THE  NIGHT.  329 

chatter  about  it.  You  upset  me  with  your  fancies. 
Marjory,  it  means  nothing." 

The  last  words  were  imperative  in  their  insistence, 
but  all  the  answer  Marjory  made  was  to  raise  her  head 
and  ask, 

"  Am  I  to  go?"  while  her  eyes  added,  too  plainly 
for  Maggie  Dennison  not  to  read  them,  "  You  know 
the  meaning  of  that." 

Under  the  entreaty  and  the  challenge  of  her  eyes, 
Mrs.  Dennison  could  not  give  the  answer  which  it  was 
her  purpose  to  give — the  answer  which  would  deny 
the  mad  hope  that  still  filled  her,  the  hope  which  still 
cried  that,  though  to-night  was  gone,  there  was  to- 
morrow. It  was  the  answer  she  must  make  to  all  the 
world — which  she  must  declare  and  study  to  confirm 
in  all  her  acts  and  bearing.  But  there — alone  with 
the  girl — under  the  compelling  influence  of  the  reluc- 
tant confidence — that  impossibility  of  open  falsehood 
— which  the  time  and  occasion  seemed  strangely  to 
build  up  between  them — she  could  not  give  it  plainly. 
She  dared  not  bid  the  girl  stay,  with  that  hope  at  her 
heart ;  she  dared  not  cast  away  the  cloak  by  bidding 
her  go. 

"  You  must  do  as  you  like,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I 
can't  help  you  about  it," 

Marjory  caught  at  the  narrow  chance  the  answer 
left  her  ;  with  returning  tenderness  she  stretched  out 
her  hands  towards  her  friend,  saying, 


230  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Maggie,  do  tell  me !  I  shall  believe  what  you 
tell  me." 

Mrs.  Dennison  drew  back  from  the  contact  of  the 
outstretched  hands.  Marjory  rose,  and  for  an  instant 
they  stood  looking  at  one  another.  Then  Marjory 
turned,  and  walked  slowly  to  the  door.  To  her  own 
room  she  went,  to  fear  and  to  hope,  if  hope  she  could. 

Mrs.  Dennison  was  left  alone.  The  night  was  far 
gone,  the  morning  coming  apace.  Her  lips  moved,  as 
she  gazed  from  the  window.  Was  it  in  thanksgiving 
for  the  escape  of  the  night,  or  in  joy  that  the  morrow 
was  already  to-day  ?  She  could  not  tell ;  yes,  she  was 
glad — surely  she  was  glad  ?  Yet,  as  at  last  she  flung 
herself  upon  her  bed,  she  murmured,  "  He'll  come 
early  to-day,"  and  then  she  sobbed  in  shame. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ON   THE    MATTER   OF    A    RAILWAY. 

"Willie  Ruston  was  half-dressed  when  the  cham- 
ber-maid knocked  at  his  door.  He  opened  it  and 
took  from  her  three  or  four  letters.  Laying  them  on 
the  table  he  finished  his  dressing — with  him  a  quick 
process,  devoid  of  the  pleasant  lounging  by  which 
many  men  cheat  its  daily  tiresomeness.  At  last,  when 
his  coat  was  on,  he  walked  two  or  three  times  up  and 
down  the  room,  frowning,  smiling  for  an  instant, 
frowning  long  again.  Then  he  jerked  his  head  im- 
patiently as  though  he  had  had  too  much  of  his 
thoughts,  and,  going  to  the  table,  looked  at  the  ad- 
dresses on  his  letters.  With  a  sudden  access  of  eager- 
ness he  seized  on  one  and  tore  it  open.  It  bore  Car- 
lin's  handwriting,  and  he  groaned  to  see  that  the  four 
sides  were  close-filled.  Old  Carlin  was  terribly  ver- 
bose and  roundabout  in  his  communications,  and  a 
bored  look  settled  on  Willie  Ruston's  face  as  he  read 
a  wilderness  of  small  details,  skirmishes  with  unruly 
clerks,  iniquities  of  office-boys,  lamentations  on  the 

(231) 


232  THE  G0D  IN  THE  CAR- 

apathy  of  the  public,  and  lastly,  a  conscientious  ac- 
count of  the  health  of  the  writer's  household.  With 
a  sigh  he  turned  the  second  page. 

"  By  the  way,"  wrote  Carlin,  "  I  have  had  a  letter 
from  Dctchmore.  lie  draws  back  about  the  railway, 
and  says  the  Government  won't  sanction  it." 

Willie  Huston  raced  through  the  rest,  muttering 
to  himself  as  he  read,  "  Why  the  deuce  didn't  he  wire  ? 
What  an  old  fool  it  is  ! "  and  so  forth.  Then  he  flung 
down  the  letter,  put  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets  and 
stood  motionless  for  a  few  moments. 

"  I  must  go  at  once,"  he  said  aloud. 

lie  stood  thinking,  and  a  rare  expression  stole  over 
his  face.  It  showed  a  doubt,  a  hesitation,  a  faltering 
— the  work  and  the  mark  of  the  day  and  the  night 
that  were  gone.  He  walked  about  again  ;  he  went  to 
the  window  and  stared  out,  jangling  the  money  in  his 
pockets.  For  nearly  five  minutes  that  expression  was 
on  his  face.  For  nearly  five  minutes — and  it  seemed 
no  short  time — he  was  torn  by  conflicting  forces.  For 
nearly  five  minutes  he  wavered  in  his  allegiance,  and 
Omofaga  had  a  rival  that  could  dispute  its  throne. 
Then  his  brow  cleared  and  his  lips  shut  tight  again. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind;  great  as  the  thing  was 
that  held  him  where  he  was,  yet  he  must  go,  and  the 
tiling  must  wait.  Wheeling  round,  he  took  up  the 
letter  and,  passing  quickly  through  the  door,  went  to 
young  Sir  Walter's  room,  with  the  face  of  a  man  who 


ON   THE   MATTER  OP   A   RAILWAY.  233 

knows  grief  and  vexation  but  has  set  wavering  be- 
hind him. 

It  was  an  hour  later  when  Adela  Ferrars  and  the 
Seminghams  sat  down  to  their  coffee.  A  fourth  plate 
was  laid  at  the  table,  and  Adela  was  in  very  good 
spirits.  Tom  Loring  had  arrived  ;  they  had  greeted 
him,  and  he  was  upstairs  making  himself  fit  to  be 
seen  after  a  night-voyage ;  his  boat  had  lain  three 
hours  outside  the  harbour  waiting  for  the  fog  to  lift. 
"  I  daresay,"  said  Tom,  "  you  heard  our  horn  bellow- 
ing." But  he  was  here  at  last,  and  Adela  was  merrier 
than  she  had  been  in  all  her  stay  at  Dieppe.  Seming- 
ham  also  was  happy ;  it  was  a  great  relief  to  feel  that 
there  was  someone  to  whom  responsibility  properly,  or 
at  least  more  properly,  belonged,  and  an  end,  there- 
fore, to  all  unjustifiable  attempts  to  saddle  mere  on- 
lookers with  it.  And  Lady  Semingham  perceived 
that  her  companions  were  in  more  genial  mood  than 
lately  had  been  their  wont,  and  expanded  in  the 
warmer  air.  When  Tom  came  down  nothing  could 
exceed  the  empressement  of  his  welcome. 

The  sun  had  scattered  the  last  remnants  of  fog, 
and,  on  Semingham's  proposal,  the  party  passed  from 
the  table  to  a  seat  in  the  hotel  garden,  whence  they 
could  look  at  the  sea.  Here  they  became  rather  more 
silent ;  for  Adela  began  to  feel  that  the  hour  of  ex- 
planation was  approaching,  and  grew  surer  and  surer 
that  to  her  would  be  left  the  task.     She  believed  that 


234  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

Tom  was  tactful  enough  to  spare  her  most  of  it,  but 
something  she  must  say — and  to  say  anything  was 
terribly  difficult.  Lord  Semingham  was  treating  the 
visit  as  though  there  were  nothing  behind;  and  his 
wife  had  no  inkling  that  there  was  anything  behind. 
The  wife's  genius  for  not  observing  was  matched  by 
the  husband's  wonderful  power  of  ignoring;  and  if 
Adela  had  allowed  herself  to  translate  into  words  the 
exasperated  promptings  of  her  quick  temper,  she 
would  have  declared  a  desire  to  box  the  ears  of  both 
of  them.  It  would  have  been  vulgar,  but  entirely 
satisfactory. 

At  last  Tom,  with  carefully-prepared  nonchalance, 
asked, 

"Oh,  and  how  is  Mrs.  Dennison?" 

Bessie  Semingham  assumed  the  question  to  her- 
self. 

"  She's  very  well,  thank  you,  Mr.  Loring.  Dieppe 
has  done  her  a  world  of  good." 

Adela  pursed  her  lips  together.  Semingham, 
catching  her  eye,  smothered  a  nascent  smile.  Tom 
frowned  slightly,  and,  leaning  forward,  clasped  his 
hands  between  his  knees.  lie  was  guilty  of  wishing 
that  Bessie  Semingham  had  more  pressing  avocations 
that  morning. 

"  You  see,"  she  chirruped,  "  Marjory's  with  her, 
and  the  children  dote  on  Marjory,  and  she's  got  Mr. 
Huston  and  Walter  to  wait  on  her — you  know  Maggie 


ON   THE   MATTER  OF   A   RAILWAY.  235 

always  likes  somebody  in  her  train.  Well,  Alfred, 
why  shouldn't  I  say  that?  I  like  to  have  someone 
myself." 

"  I  didn't  speak,"  protested  Semingbam. 

"No,  but  you  looked  funny.  I  always  say  about 
Maggie,  Mr.  Loring,  that " 

All  three  were  listening  in  some  embarrassment ; 
out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  come  sometimes  alarming 
things. 

"  That  without  any  apparent  trouble  she  can  make 
her  clothes  look  better  than  anybody  I  know." 

Lord  Semingbam  laughed  ;  even  Adela  and  Tom 
smiled. 

"  What  a  blessed  irrelevance  you  have,  my  dear," 
said  Semingbam,  stroking  his  wife's  small  hand. 

Lady  Semingbam  smiled  delightedly  and  blushed 
prettily.  She  enjoyed  Alfred's  praise.  He  was  so 
difficile  as  a  rule.  The  exact  point  of  the  word  "  ir- 
relevance "  she  did  not  stay  to  consider ;  she  had 
evidently  said  something  that  pleased  him.  A  mo- 
ment later  she  rose  with  a  smile,  crying, 

"Why,  Mr.  Ruston,  how  good  of  you  to  come 
round  so  early  ! " 

Willie  Ruston  shook  hands  with  her  in  hasty  po- 
liteness. A  nod  to  Semingbam,  a  lift  of  the  hat  to 
Adela,  left  him  face  to  face  with  Tom  Loring,  who 
got  up  slowly. 

"Ah,  Loring,  how  are  you?"  said  Willie  holding 


236  TJIE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

out  his  hand.  "  Young  Val  told  me  you  were  to  arrive 
to-day.  How  did  you  get  across  ?  Uncommon  foggy, 
wasn't  it?" 

By  this  time  he  had  taken  Tom's  hand  and  shaken 
it,  Tom  being  purely  passive. 

"  By  the  way,  you're  all  wrong  about  the  water, 
you  know,"  he  continued,  in  sudden  remembrance. 
"There's  enough  water  to  supply  Manchester  within 
ten  miles  of  Fort  Imperial.  What?  Why,  man,  I'll 
show  you  the  report  when  we  get  back  to  town  ;  good 
water,  too.  I  had  it  analysed,  and — well,  it's  all 
right ;  but  I  haven't  time  to  talk  about  it  now.  The 
fact  is,  Semingham,  I  came  round  to  tell  you  that 
I'm  off." 

"Off?"  exclaimed  Semingham,  desperately  fum- 
bling for  his  eyeglass. 

Adela  clasped  her  hands,  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 
Tom  scrutinised  Willie  Ruston  with  attentive  eyes. 

"Yes;  to-day — in  an  hour;  boat  goes  at  11*30. 
I've  had  a  letter  from  old  Carlin.  Things  aren't  going 
well.  That  ass  Deteh By  Jove,  though,  1  for- 
got you,  Loring !  I  don't  want  to  give  you  materials 
for  another  of  those  articles." 

His  rapidity,  his  bustle,  his  good  humour  were  all 
amazing. 

Tom  glanced  in  bewilderment  at  Adela.  Adela 
coloured  deeply.  She  felt  that  she  had  no  adequate 
reason  to  give  for  having  summoned  Tom  Loring  to 


ON   THE   MATTER  OF   A   RAILWAY.  237 

Dieppe,  unless  (she  brightened  as  the  thought  struck 
her)  Tom  had  frightened  Ruston  away. 

Willie  seized  Semingham 's  arm,  and  began  to  walk 
him  (the  activity  seemed  all  on  Willie's  part)  quickly 
up  and  down  the  garden.  He  held  Carlin's  letter  in 
his  hand,  and  he  talked  eagerly  and  fast,  beating  the 
letter  with  his  fist  now  and  again.  Bessie  Semingham 
sat  down  with  an  amiable  smile.  Adela  and  Tom 
were  close  together.  Adela  lifted  her  eyes  to  Tom's 
in  question. 

"  What  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Do  you  think  it's  true?"  she  whispered. 

"  He's  the  finest  actor  alive  if  it  isn't,"  said  Tom, 
watching  the  beats  of  Ruston's  fist. 

"  Then  thank  heaven  !     But  I  feel  so  foolish." 

"  Hush  !  here  they  come,"  said  Tom. 

There  was  no  time  for  more. 

"  Tom,  there's  riches  in  it  for  you  if  we  told  you," 
laughed  Semingham  ;  "  but  Ruston's  going  to  put  it 
all  right." 

Tom  gave  a  not  very  easy  laugh. 

"  Fancy  old  Carlin  not  wiring !  "  exclaimed  Willie 
Ruston. 

"  Shall  I  sell  ? "  asked  Adela,  trying  to  be  frivo- 
lous. 

"  Hold  for  your  life,  Miss  Ferrars,"  said  Willie ; 

and  going  up  to  Bessie  Semingham  he  held  out  his 

hand. 

16 


238  THE  GOD  IN  TDIE  CAR. 

"  What,  are  you  really  off?  It's  too  bad  of  you, 
Mr.  Ruston  !  Not  that  I've  seen  much  of  you.  Mag- 
gie has  quite  monopolised  you." 

Adela  and  Tom  looked  at  the  ground.  Seming- 
ham  turned  his  back ;  his  smile  would  not  be  smoth- 
ered. 

"  Of  course  you're  going  to  say  good-bye  to  her?" 
pursued  Lady  Semingham. 

Tom  looked  up,  and  Adela  followed  his  example. 
They  were  rewarded — if  it  were  a  reward — by  seeing  a 
slight  frown — the  first  shadow  since  he  had  been  with 
them — on  Ruston's  brow.  But  he  answered  briskly, 
with  a  glance  at  his  wathc, 

"  I  can't  manage  it.  I  should  miss  the  boat.  I 
must  write  her  a  line." 

"  Oh,  she'll  never  forgive  you,"  cried  Lady  Sem- 
ingham. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  will,"  he  laughed.  "  It's  for  Omo- 
faga,  you  know.  Good-bye.  Good-bye.  I'm  awfully 
sorry  to  go.     Good-bye." 

He  was  gone.  It  was  difficult  to  realise  at  first. 
His  presence,  the  fact  of  him,  had  filled  so  large  a 
spuce;  it  had  been  the  feature  of  the  place  from  the 
day  he  had  joined  them.  It  had  been  their  interest 
and  their  incubus. 

For  a  moment  the  three  stood  staring  at  one 
another  ;  then  Semingham,  with  a  curious  laugh, 
turned   on    his   heel  and   went  into  the  house.     His 


ON   THE   MATTER  OP  A   RAILWAY.  9.39 

wife  unfolded  yesterday's  Morning  Post  and   began 
to  read. 

"  Come  for  a  stroll,"  said  Tom  Loring  to  Adela. 

She  accompanied  him  in  silence,  and  they  walked 
a  hundred  yards  or  more  before  she  spoke. 

"  What  a  blessing  !  "  she  said  then.  "  I  wonder  if 
your  coming  sent  him  away  ?  " 

"  No,  it  was  genuine,"  declared  Tom,  with  con- 
viction. 

"  Then  I  was  very  wrong,  or  he's  a  most  extraor- 
dinary man.  I  can't  talk  to  you  about  it,  Mr.  Loring, 
but  you  told  me  I  might  send.  And  I  did  think  it 
— desirable — when  I  wrote.  I  did,  indeed.  I  hope 
you're  not  very  much  annoyed?" 

"  Annoyed  !  No  ;  I  was  delighted  to  come.  And 
I  am  still  more  delighted  that  it  looks  as  if  I  wasn't 
wanted." 

"  Oh,  you're  wanted,  anyhow,"  said  Adela. 

She  was  very  happy  in  his  coming,  and  could  not 
help  showing  it  a  little.  Fortunately,  it  was  tolerably 
certain  (as  she  felt  sometimes,  intolerably  certain)  that 
Tom  Loring  would  not  notice  anything.  He  never 
seemed  to  consider  it  possible  that  people  might  be 
particularly  glad  to  see  him. 

"  And  you  can  stay,  can't  you  ?  "  she  added. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  can  stay  a  bit.  I  should  like  to. 
What  made  you  send  ?  " 

"  You  know.     I  can't  possibly  describe  it." 


240  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Did  Semingham  notice  it  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  did,  Mr.  Loring.  I  distrust  that  man — 
Mr.  Ruston  I  mean — utterly.     And  Maggie " 

"  She's  wrapped  up  in  him  ?  " 

"  Terribly.  I  tried  to  think  it  was  his  wretched 
Omofaga  ;  but  it's  not ;  it's  him." 

"  Well,  he's  disposed  of." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  sighed,  in  complacent  igno- 
rance. 

"  I  must  go  and  see  her,  you  know,"  said  Tom, 
wrinkling  his  brow. 

Adela  laughed. 

"  What'll  she  say  to  me?  "  asked  Tom  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  she'll  be  very  pleasant." 

"  I  shan't,"  said  Tom  with  sudden  decision. 

Adela  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  You  mean  to — to  give  her  '  a  bit  of  your  mind  ? ' " 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  I  think  so  ; 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to,  if  I  dared." 

"  Why,  you  dare  anything  !  "  exclaimed  Tom. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't.  I  splash  about  a  good  deal,  but 
I  am  a  coward,  really." 

They  relapsed  into  silence.     Presently  Tom  began, 

"  It's  been  awfully  dull  in  town  ;  nobody  to  speak 
to,  except  Mrs.  Cormack." 

"  Mrs.  Cormack  !  "  cried  Adela.  "  I  thought  you 
hated  her?" 


ON  THE  MATTER  OF  A   RAILWAY.  241 

"  Well,  I've  thought  a  little  better  of  her  lately." 

"  To  think  of  your  making  friends  with  Mrs.  Cor- 
mack ! " 

"  I  haven't  made  friends  with  her.  She's  not  such 
a  bad  woman  as  you'd  think,  though." 

"  I  think  she's  horrible,"  said  Adela. 

Tom  gave  it  up. 

"  There  was  no  one  else,"  he  pleaded. 

"Well,"  retorted  Adela,  "when  there  is  anyone 
else,  you  never  come  near  them." 

The  grammar  was  confused,  but  Adela  could  not 
improve  it,  without  being  landed  in  unbearable  plain- 
ness of  speech. 

"  Don't  I  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Why,  I  come  and  see 
you." 

"  Oh,  for  twenty  minutes  once  a  month ;  just  to 
keep  the  acquaintance  open,  I  suppose.  It's  like  shut- 
ting all  the  gates  on  Ascension  Day  (isn't  it  Ascension 
Day  ?),  only  the  other  way  round,  you  know." 

"  You  so  often  quarrel  with  me,"  said  Tom. 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  said  Adela.  "  Anyhow,  I 
won't  quarrel  here." 

Tom  glanced  at  her.  She  was  looking  bright  and 
happy  and  young.  He  liked  her  even  better  here  in 
Dieppe  than  in  a  London  drawing-room.  Her  con- 
versation was  not  so  elaborate,  but  it  was  more  spon- 
taneous and,  to  his  mind,  pleasanter.  Moreover,  the 
sea  air  had  put  colour  in  her  cheeks  and  painted  her 


242  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

complexion  afresh.  The  thought  strayed  through 
Tom's  mind  that  she  was  looking  quite  handsome.  It 
was  the  one  good  thing  that  he  did  not  always  think 
about  her.  He  went  on  studying  her  till  she  sudden- 
ly turned  and  caught  him. 

"  Well,"  she  asked,  with  a  laugh  and  a  blush,  "  do 
I  wear  well  ?  " 

"  You  always  talk  as  if  you  were  seventy,"  said 
Tom  reprovingly. 

Adela  laughed  merrily.  The  going  of  Buston  and 
the  coming  of  Tom  were  almost  too  much  good-for- 
tune for  one  day.  And  Tom  had  come  in  a  pleasant 
mood. 

"You  don't  really  like  Mrs.  Cormack,  do  you?" 
she  asked.     "  She  hates  me,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  if  I  have  to  choose  between  you "  said 

Tom,  and  stopped. 

"  You  stop  at  the  critical  moment." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Cormack  isn't  here,"  said  Tom. 

"  So  I  shall  do  to  pass  the  time  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  laughed  ;  and  then  they  both  laughed. 

But  suddenly  Adela's  laugh  ceased,  and  she 
jumped  up. 

"  There's  Marjory  Valentine  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  What !     Where  ?  "  asked  Tom,  rising. 

"  No,  stay  where  you  are,  I  want  to  speak  to  her. 
I'll  come  back,"  and,  leaving  Tom,  she  sped  after 
Marjory,  calling  her  name. 


ON  THE  MATTER  OP  A   RAILWAY.  243 

Marjory  looked  round  and  hastened  to  meet  her. 
She  was  pale  and  her  eyes  heavy  for  trouble  and  want 
of  sleep. 

"  Oh,  Adela,  I'm  so  glad  to  find  you  !  I  was  going 
to  look  for  you  at  the  hotel.     I  must  talk  to  you." 

"You  shall,"  said  Adela,  taking  her  arm  and 
smiling  again. 

She  did  not  notice  Marjory's  looks ;  she  was  full 
of  her  own  tidings. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  whether  you  think  Lady  Sem- 

ingham "   began  Marjory,   growing   red,   and   in 

great  embarrassment. 

"  Oh,  but  hear  my  news  first,"  cried  Adela  ;  "  Mar- 
jory, he's  gone ! " 

"Who?" 

"  Why,  that  man  Mr.  Huston." 

"  Gone  ?  "  echoed  Marjory  in  amazement. 

To  her  it  seemed  incredible  that  he  should  be 
gone — strange  perhaps  to  Adela,  but  to  her  in- 
credible. 

"  Yes,  this  morning.  He  got  a  letter — something 
about  his  Company — and  he  was  off  on  the  spot. 
And  Tom — Mr.  Loring  (he's  come,  you  know),  thinks 
— that  that  really  was  his  reason,  you  know." 

Marjory  listened  with  wide-open  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Adela ! "  she  said  at  last  with  a  sort  of 
shudder. 

She  could  have  believed  it  of  no  other  man;  she 


241  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

could  hardly  believe  it  of  one  who  now  seemed  to  her 
hardly  a  man. 

"  Isn't  it  splendid?  And  he  went  off  without  see- 
ing— without  going  up  to  the  cliff  at  all.  I  never 
was  so  delighted  in  my  life." 

Marjory  was  silent.  No  delight  showed  on  her 
face ;  the  time  for  that  was  gone.  She  did  not 
understand,  and  she  was  thinking  of  the  night's 
experience  and  wondering  if  Maggie  Dennison  had 
known  that  he  was  going.  No,  she  could  not  have 
known. 

"  But  what  did  you  want  with  me,  or  with 
Bessie  ?  "  asked  Adela. 

Marjory  hesitated.  The  departure  of  Willie  Hus- 
ton made  a  difference.  She  prayed  that  it  meant  an 
utter  difference.  There  was  a  chance ;  and  while 
there  was  a  chance  her  place  was  in  the  villa  on  the 
cliff.  His  going  rekindled  the  spark  of  hope  that 
almost  had  died  in  the  last  terrible  night. 

"  I  think,"  she  said  slowly,  "  that  I'll  go  straight 
back." 

"And  tell  Maggie?"  asked  Adela  with  excited 
eyes. 

"If  she  doesn't  know.' 

Adela  said  nothing ;  the  subject  was  too  perilous. 
She  even  regretted  having  said  so  much ;  but  she 
pressed  her  friend's  arm  approvingly. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  about  Lady  Semingham  just 


ON  THE   MATTER  OP  A  RAILWAY.  2-45 

now,"  said  Marjory  in  an  absent  sort  of  tone.  "It 
will  do  later." 

"  You're  not  looking  well,"  remarked  Adela,  who 
had  at  last  looked  at  her. 

"  I  had  a  bad  night." 

"  And  how's  Maggie  ?  " 

The  girl  paused  a  moment. 

"  I  haven't  seen  her  this  morning.  She  sent  word 
that  she  would  breakfast  in  bed.  I'll  just  run  up 
now,  Adela." 

She  walked  off  rapidly.  Adela  watched  her,  feel- 
ing uneasy  about  her.  There  was  a  strange  constraint 
about  her  manner — a  hint  of  something  suppressed — 
and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  she  was  nervous  and  un- 
happy. But  Adela,  making  lighter  of  her  old  fears 
in  her  new-won  comfort,  saw  only  in  Marjory  a  grief 
that  is  very  sad  to  bear,  a  sorrow  that  comes  where 
love — or  what  is  nearly  love — meets  with  indifference. 

"  She's  still  thinking  about  that  creature  !  "  said 
Adela  to  herself  in  scorn  and  in  pity.  She  had  quite 
made  up  her  mind  about  Willie  Ruston  now.  "  I'm 
awfully  sorry  for  her."  Adela,  in  fact,  felt  very  sym- 
pathetic. For  the  same  thing  might  well  happen 
with  love  that  rested  on  a  worthier  object  than  "  that 
creature,  Willie  Ruston  !  " 

Meanwhile  the  creature — could  he  himself  at  the 
moment  have  quarrelled  with  the  word  ? — was  carried 
over  the   waves,   till  the   cliff  and  the  house  on  it 


24G  THE   GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

clipped  and  died  away.  The  excitement  of  the  mes- 
sage and  the  start  was  over ;  the  duty  that  had  been 
strong  enough  to  take  him  away  could  not  yet  be 
done.  A  space  lay  bare — exposed  to  the  thoughts 
that  fastened  on  it.  Who  could  have  escaped  their 
assault?  Not  even  Willie  Euston  was  proof  ;  and  his 
fellow-voyagers  wondered  at  the  man  with  the  frown- 
ing brows  and  fretful  restless  eyes.  It  had  not  been 
easy  to  do,  or  pleasant  to  see  done,  this  last  sacrifice 
to  the  god  of  his  life.  Yet  it  had  been  done,  with 
hardly  a  hesitation.  He  paced  the  deck,  saying  to 
himself,  "  She'll  understand."  Would  any  woman  ? 
If  any,  then,  without  doubt,  she  was  the  woman. 
"  Oh,  she'll  understand,"  he  muttered  petulantly, 
angry  with  himself  because  he  would  not  be  con- 
vinced. Once,  in  despair,  he  tried  to  tell  himself  that 
this  end  to  it  was  what  people  would  call  ordered  for 
the  best — that  it  was  an  escape  for  him — still  more 
for  her.  But  his  strong,  self-penetrating  sense  pushed 
the  plea  aside — in  him  it  was  hypocrisy,  the  merest 
conventionality.  He  had  not  even  the  half-stifled 
thanksgiving  for  respite  from  a  doom  still  longed  for, 
which  had  struggled  for  utterance  in  Maggie's  sobs. 
Yet  he  had  something  that  might  pass  for  it — a  feel- 
ing that  made  even  him  start  in  the  knowledge  of  its 
degradation.  By  fate,  or  accident,  or  mischance — call 
it  what  he  might — there  was  nothing  irrevocable  yet. 
He  could  draw  back  still.     Not  thanksgiving  for  sin 


ON  THE   MATTER  OP   A   RAILWAY.  247 

averted,  but  a  shamefaced  sense  of  an  enforced  safety 
made  its  way  into  his  mind — till  it  was  thrust  aside 
by  anger  at  the  check  that  had  baffled  him,  and  by 
the  longing  that  was  still  upon  him. 

Well,  anyhow — for  good  or  evil — willing  or  un- 
willing— he  was  away.  And  she  was  alone  in  the 
little  house  on  the  cliff.  His  face  softened  ;  he  ceased 
to  think  of  himself  for  a  moment ;  he  thought  of  her, 
as  she  would  look  when  he  did  not  come — when  he 
was  false  to  a  tryst  never  made  in  words,  but  surely 
the  strongest  that  had  ever  bound  a  man.  He 
clenched  his  fists  as  he  stood  looking  from  the  stern 
of  the  boat,  muttering  again  his  old  plea,  "  She'll  un- 
derstand ! " 

Was  there  not  the  railway  ? 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

PAST   PRAYING    FOR. 

Mrs.  Dennison  needed  not  Marjory  to  tell  her. 
She  had  received  Willie  Euston's  note  just  as  she  was 
about  to  leave  her  bedroom.  It  was  scribbled  in  pen- 
cil on  balf  a  sheet  of  notepaper. 

"  Am  called  back  to  England — something  wrong 
about  our  railway.  Very  sorry  I  can't  come  and  say 
good-bye.  I  shall  run  back  if  I  can,  but  I'm  afraid 
I  may  be  kept  in  England.     Will  you  write? 

"  W.  R.  R." 

She  read  it,  and  stood  as  if  changed  to  stone. 
"  Something  wrong  about  our  railway !  "  Surely  an 
all-sufficient  reason;  the  writer  had  no  doubt  of  that. 
lie  might  be  kept  in  England  ;  that  meant  he  would 
be,  and  the  writer  seemed  to  see  nothing  strange  in 
the  fact  that  he  could  be.  She  did  not  doubt  the 
truth  of  what  the  note  said.  A  man  lying  would 
have  piled  Pelion  on  Ossa,  reason  on  reason,  excuse  on 

(248) 


PAST  PRAYING   FOR.  249 

excuse,  protestation  on  protestation.  Besides  Willie 
Huston  did  not  lie.  It  was  just  the  truth,  the  all- 
sufficient  truth.  There  was  something  wrong  with 
the  railway,  so  he  left  her.  He  would  lose  a  day  if  he 
missed  the  boat,  so  he  left  her  without  a  word  of 
farewell.  The  railway  must  not  suffer  for  his  taking 
holiday ;  her  suffering  was  all  his  holiday  should 
make. 

Slowly  she  tore  the  note  into  the  smallest  of  frag- 
ments, and  the  fragments  fell  at  her  feet.  And  his 
passionate  words  were  still  in  her  ears,  his  kisses  still 
burnt  on  her  cheek.  This  was  the  man  whom  to  sway 
had  been  her  darling  ambition,  whom  to  love  was  her 
great  sin,  whom  to  know,  as  in  this  moment  she 
seemed  to  know  him,  her  bitter  punishment.  In  her 
heart  she  cried  to  heaven,  "  Enough,  enough ! " 

The  note  was  his — his  to  its  last  line,  its  last  word, 
its  last  silence.  The  man  stood  there,  self-epitomised, 
callous  and  careless,  unmerciful,  unbending,  unturn- 
ing ;  vowed  to  his  quest,  recking  of  naught  else.  But 
— she  clung  to  this,  the  last  plank  in  her  shipwreck — 
great — one  of  the  few  for  whom  the  general  must 
make  stepping-stones.  She  thought  she  had  been 
one  of  the  few ;  that  torn  note  told  her  error.  Still, 
she  had  held  out  her  hands  to  ruin  for  no  common 
clay's  sake.  But  it  was  too  hard — too  hard — too 
hard. 

"  Will  you  write  ?  "     Was  he  tender  there  ?    Her 


250  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

bitterness  would  not  grunt  him  even  that.  He  did 
not  want  her  to  slip  away.  The  smallest  addition  will 
make  the  greatest  realm  greater,  and  its  loss  sully  the 
king's  majesty.  So  she  must  write,  as  she  must  thiuk 
and  dream — and  remember. 

Perhaps  he  might  choose  to  come  again — some 
day — and  she  was  to  be  ready ! 

She  went  downstairs.  In  the  hall  she  met  her 
children,  and  they  said  something  to  her ;  they  talked 
and  chattered  to  her,  and,  with  the  surface  of  her 
mind,  she  understood  ;  and  she  listened  and  answered 
and  smiled.  And  all  that  they  had  said  and  she  had 
said  went  away ;  and  she  found  them  gone,  and  her- 
self alone.  Then  she  passed  to  the  sitting-room, 
where  was  Marjory  Valentine,  breathless  from  mount- 
ing the  path  too  quickly ;  and  at  sight  of  Marjory's 
face,  she  said, 

"  I've  heard  from  Mr.  Ruston.  lie  has  been  called 
away,"  forestalling  Marjory's  trembling  words. 

Then  she  sat  down,  and  there  was  a  long  silence. 
She  was  conscious  of  Marjory  there,  but  the  girl  did 
not  speak,  and  presently  the  impression  of  her,  which 
was  very  faint,  faded  altogether  away,  and  Maggie 
Dennison  seemed  to  herself  alone  again — thinking, 
dreaming,  and  remembering,  as  she  must  now  think, 
dream,  and  remember — remembering  the  day  that 
was  gone,  thinking  of  what  this  day  should  have 
been. 


PAST   PRAYING   FOR.  251 

She  sat  for  an  hour,  still  and  idle,  looking  out 
across  the  sea,  and  Marjory  sat  motionless  behind, 
gazing  at  her  with  despair  in  her  eyes.  At  last  the 
girl  could  bear  it  no  longer.  It  was  unnatural,  un- 
earthly, to  sit  there  like  that ;  it  was  as  though,  by  an 
impossibility,  a  dead  soul  were  clothed  with  a  living 
breathing  body.  Marjory  rose  and  came  close,  and 
called, 

"  Maggie,  Maggie  ! " 

Her  voice  was  clear  and  louder  than  her  ordinary 
tones  ;  she  spoke  as  if  trying  to  force  some  one  to  hear. 

Maggie  Dennison  started,  looked  round,  and  passed 
her  hand  rapidly  across  her  brow. 

"  Maggie,  I — I've  not  done  anything  about  going." 

"Going?"  echoed  Maggie  Dennison.  But  her 
mind  was  clearing  now;  her  brain  had  been  stunned, 
not  killed,  and  her  will  drove  it  to  wakefulness  and 
work  again.     "  Going  ?     Oh,  I  hope  not." 

"You  know,  last  night "  began  Marjory,  timid- 
ly, flushing,  keeping  behind  Mrs.  Dennison's  chair. 
"  Last  night  we — we  talked  about  it,  but  I  thought 
perhaps  now " 

"  Oh,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Dennison,  "  never  mind 
last  night.  For  goodness'  sake,  forget  last  night.  I 
think  we  were  both  mad  last  night." 

Marjory  made  no  answer ;  and  Mrs.  Dennison,  her 
hand  having  swept  her  brow  once  again,  turned  to  her 
with  awakened  and  alert  eyes. 


252  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

"  You  upset  me — and  then  I  upset  you.  And  we 
botli  behaved  like  hysterical  creatures.  If  I  told  you 
to  go,  I  was  silly;  and  if  you  said  you  wanted  to  go, 
you  were  silly  too,  Marjory.  Of  course,  you  must  stop ; 
and  do  forget  that — nonsense — last  night." 

Her  tone  was  eager  and  petulant,  the  colour  was 
returning  to  her  cheeks;  she  looked  alive  again. 

Marjory  leant  an  arm  on  the  back  of  the  chair, 
looking  down  into  Maggie  Dennison's  face. 

"  I  will  stay,"  she  said  softly,  ignoring  everything 
else,  and  then  she  swiftly  stooped  and  kissed  Maggie's 
cheek. 

Mrs.  Dennison  shivered  and  smiled,  and,  detaining 
the  girl's  head,  most  graciously  returned  her  caress. 
Mrs.  Dennison  was  forgiving  everything;  by  forgive- 
ness it  might  be  that  she  could  buy  of  Marjory  forget- 
ful ness. 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  door.  Marjory  looked 
through  the  window. 

"  It's  Mr.  Loring,"  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

Maggie  Dennison  smiled — graciously  again. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  him  to  come  so  soon,"  said  she. 

"Shall  I  go?" 

"Go?  No,  child — unless  you  want  to.  You  know 
him  too.     And  we've  no  secrets,  Tom  Loring  and  I." 

Tom  Loring  had  mounted  the  hill  very  slowly. 
The  giving  of  that  "  piece  of  his  mind  "  seemed  not 
altogether  easy.     He  might  paint  poor  Harry's  forlorn 


PAST   PRAYING   FOR.  253 

state ;  Mrs.  Dennison  would  be  politely  concerned  and 
politely  sceptical  about  it.  He  might  tell  her  again — 
as  he  had  told  her  before — that  Willie  Huston  was  a 
knave  and  a  villain,  and  she  might  laugh  or  be  angry, 
as  her  mood  was ;  but  she  would  not  believe.  Or  he 
might  upbraid  her  for  folly  or  for  worse;  and  this 
was  what  he  wished  to  do.  Would  she  listen?  Prob- 
ably— with  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  mocking  little  com- 
pliments on  his  friendly  zeal  and  fatherly  anxiety.  Or 
she  might  flash  out  on  him,  and  call  his  charge  an  in- 
sult, and  drive  him  away ;  and  a  word  from  her  would 
turn  poor  old  Harry  into  his  enemy.  Decidedly  his 
task  was  no  easy  one. 

It  was  a  coward's  joy  that  he  felt  when  he  found  a 
third  person  there ;  but  he  felt  it  from  the  bottom  of 
his  heart.  Divine  delay !  Gracious  impossibility ! 
How  often  men  adore  them !  Tom  Loring  gave 
thanks,  praying  silently  that  Marjory  would  not  with- 
draw, shook  hands  as  though  his  were  the  most  or- 
dinary morning  call,  and  began  to  discuss  the  scenery 
of  Dieppe,  and — as  became  a  newcomer — the  incidents 
of  his  voyage. 

"  And  while  you  were  all  peacefully  in  your  beds, 
we  were  groping  about  outside  in  that  abominable 
fog,"  said  he. 

"  How  you  must  have  envied  us ! "  smiled  Mrs. 
Dennison,  and  Marjory  found  herself  smiling  in  emu- 
lous hypocrisy.  But  her  smile  was  very  unsuccessful, 
'  17 


254  THE  GOD   IN  THE   CAR. 

and  it  was  well  that  Tom  Loring's  eyes  were  on  his 
hostess. 

Then  Mrs.  Dennison  began  to  talk  about  Willie 
Ruston  and  her  own  great  interest  in  him,  and  in  the 
Ornofaga  Company.  She  was  very  good-humoured  to 
Tom  Loring,  but  she  did  not  fail  to  remind  him  how 
unreasonable  he  had  been — was  still,  wasn't  he  ?  The 
perfection  of  her  manner  frightened  Marjory  and  re- 
pelled her.  Yet  it  would  have  seemed  an  effort  of 
bravery,  had  it  been  done  with  visible  struggling.  But 
it  betrayed  no  effort,  and  therefore  made  no  show  of 
bravery. 

"  So  now,"  said  Maggie  Dennison,  "  since  I  haven't 
got  Mr.  Ruston  to  exchange  sympathy  with,  I  must 
exchange  hostilities  with  you.  It  will  still  be  about 
Ornofaga — that's  one  thing." 

Tom  had  definitely  decided  to  put  off  his  lecture. 
The  old  manner  he  had  known  and  mocked  and  ad- 
mired— the  "  these-are-the-orders  "  manner — was  too 
strong  for  him.  He  believed  he  was  still  fond  of  her. 
He  knew  that  he  wondered  at  her  still.  Could  it  be 
true  what  they  told  him — that  she  was  as  a  child  in 
the  hands  of  Willie  Ruston  ?  He  hated  to  think  that, 
because  it  must  mean  that  Willie  Ruston  was — well, 
not  quite  an  ordinary  person — a  conclusion  Tom  loathed 
to  accept. 

"  And  you're  going  to  stay  some  tirntj  with  the 
Seminghams  ?    That'll  be  very  pleasant.     And  Adela 


PAST  PRAYING  FOR.  255 

will  like  to  have  you  so  much.  Oh,  you  can  convert 
her !  She's  a  shareholder.  And  you  must  have  a  talk 
to  the  old  Baron.  You've  heard  of  him?  But  then 
he  believes  in  Mr.  Ruston,  as  I  do,  so  yoifll  quarrel 
with  him." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  convert  him,"  suggested  Tom. 

"  Oh,  no,  Ave  thorough  believers  are  past  praying 
for  ;  aren't  we,  Marjory  ? " 

Marjory  started. 

"  Past  praying  for  ?  "  she  echoed. 

Her  thoughts  had  strayed  from  the  conversation — 
back  to  what  she  had  been  bidden  to  forget ;  and  she 
spoke  not  as  one  who  speaks  a  trivial  phrase. 

For  an  instant  a  gleam  of  something — anger  or 
fright — shot  from  Maggie  Dennison's  eyes.  The  next, 
she  was  playfully,  distantly,  delicately  chaffing  Tom 
about  the  meaning  of  his  sudden  arrival. 

"  Of  course  not "  she  began. 

And  Tom,  interrupting,  stopped  the  "  Adela." 

"  And  you  stay  here  too  ? "  he  asked,  to  turn  the 
conversation. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  smiled  Mrs.  Dennison.  "After 
being  here  all  this  time,  it  would  look  rather  funny 
if  I  ran  away  just  when  Harry's  coming.  I  think  he 
really  would  have  a  right  to  be  aggrieved  then."  She 
paused,  and  added  more  seriously,  "  Oh,  yes,  I  shall 
wait  here  for  Harry." 

Then  Tom  Loring  rose  and  took  his  leave.     Mrs. 


256  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

Dennison  entrusted  him  with  an  invitation  to  the 
whole  of  the  Seminghams'  party  to  luncheon  next 
day  ("  if  they  don't  mind  squeezing  into  our  little 
room,"  she  gaily  added),  and  walked  with  him  to  the 
top  of  the  path,  waving  her  hand  to  him  in  friendly 
farewell  as  he  began  to  descend.  And,  after  he  was 
gone,  she  stood  for  a  while  looking  out  to  sea.  Then 
she  turned.  Marjory  was  in  the  window  and  saw  her 
face  as  she  turned.  In  a  moment  Maggie  Dennison 
saw  her  looking,  and  smiled  brightly.  But  the  one 
short  instant  had  been  enough.  The  feelings  first 
numbed,  then  smothered,  had  in  that  second  sprung 
to  life,  and  Marjory  shrank  back  with  a  little  inar- 
ticulate cry  of  pain  and  horror.  Almost  as  she  ut- 
tered it,  Mrs.  Dennison  was  by  her  side. 

"  We'll  go  out  this  afternoon,"  she  said.  "  I  think 
I  shall  lie  down  for  an  hour.  We  managed  to  rob 
ourselves  of  a  good  deal  of  sleep  last  night.  You'd 
better  do  the  same."  She  paused,  and  then  she 
added,  "  You're  a  good  child,  Marjory.  You're  very 
kind  to  me." 

There  was  a  quiver  in  her  voice,  but  it  was  only 
that,  and  it  was  Marjory,  not  she,  who  burst  into 
sobs. 

"Hush,  hush,"  whispered  Maggie  Dennison. 
"Hush,  dear.  Don't  do  that.  Why  should  you  do 
that?"  and  she  stroked  the  girl's  hot  cheek,  wet  with 
tears.     "  I'm  very  tired,  Marjory,"  she  went  on.     "  Do 


PAST   PRAYING   FOR.  257 

you  think  you  can  dry  your  eyes — your  silly  eyes — aud 
help  me  upstairs?  I— I  can  hardly  stand,"  and,  as 
she  spoke,  she  swayed  and  caught  at  the  curtain  by 
her,  and  held  herself  up  by  it.  "  Ko,  I  can  go 
alone  ! "  she  exclaimed  almost  fiercely.  "  Leave  me 
alone,  Marjory,  I  can  walk.  I  can  walk  perfectly  ; " 
and  she  walked  steadily  across  the  room,  and  Marjory 
heard  her  unwavering  step  mounting  the  stairs  to  her 
bedroom. 

But  Marjorj  did  not  see  her  enter  her  room,  stop 
for  a  moment  over  the  scraps  of  torn  paper,  still  lying 
on  the  floor,  stoop  and  gather  them  one  by  one,  then 
put  them  in  an  envelope,  and  the  envelope  in  her 
purse,  and  then  throw  herself  on  the  bed  in  an  agony 
of  dumb  pain,  with  the  look  on  her  face  that  had 
come  for  a  moment  in  the  garden  and  came  now,  fear- 
less of  being  driven  away,  lined  strong  and  deep,  as 
though  graven  with  some  sharp  tool. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    BAKON'S    CONTRIBUTION. 

It  may  be  that  the  Baron  thought  he  had  sucked 
the  orange  of  life  very  dry — at  least,  when  the  cold 
winds  and  the  fog  had  done  their  work,  he  accepted 
without  passionate  disinclination  the  hint  that  he 
must  soon  take  his  lips  from  the  fruit.  He  went  to 
bed  and  made  a  codicil  to  his  will,  having  it  executed 
and  witnessed  with  every  requisite  formality.  Then 
he  announced  to  Lord  Semingham,  who  came  to  see 
him,  that,  according  to  his  doctor's  opinion  and  his 
own,  he  might  manage  to  breathe  a  week  longer ;  and 
Semingham,  looking  upon  him,  fancied,  without  say- 
ing, that  the  opinion  was  a  sanguine  one.  This  hap- 
pened five  days  before  Harry  Dennison's  arrival  at 
Dieppe. 

"  I  am  very  fortunate,"  said  the  Baron,  "  to  have 
found  such  kind  friends  for  the  last  stage ; "  and  he 
looked  from  Lady  Semingham's  flowers  to  Adela's 
grapes.  "  I  could  have  bought  them,  of  course,"  he 
added.     "  I've  always  been  able  to  buy — everything." 

(258) 


THE   BARON'S   CONTRIBUTION.  259 

The  old  man  smiled  as  he  spoke,  and  Semingham 
smiled  also. 

"  This,"  continued  the  Baron,  "  is  the  third  time  I 
have  been  laid  up  like  this." 

"  There's  luck  in  odd  numbers,"  observed  Seming- 
ham. 

"  But  which  would  be  luck  ?  "  asked  the  Baron. 

"  Ah,  there  you  gravel  me,"  admitted  Semingham. 

"  I  came  here  against  orders,  because  I  must  needs 
poke  my  old  nose  into  this  concern  of  yours " 

"  Not  of  mine." 

"  Of  yours  and  others.  Well,  I  poked  it  in — and 
the  frost  has  caught  the  end  of  it." 

"  I  don't  take  any  particular  pleasure  in  the  con- 
cern myself,"  said  Semingham,  "and  I  wish  you'd 
kept  your  nose  out,  and  yourself  in  a  more  balmy  cli- 
mate." 

"  My  dear  Lord,  the  market  is  rising." 

"  I  know,"  smiled  Semingham.  "  Tom  Loring 
can't  make  out  who  the  fools  are  who  are  buying.  He 
said  so  this  morning." 

The  Baron  began  to  laugh,  but  a  cough  choked  his 
mirth. 

"  He's  an  honest  and  an  able  man,  your  Loring ; 
but  he  doesn't  see  clear  in  everything.  I've  been  buy- 
ing, myself." 

"  Oh,  you  have  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  someone  has  been  selling — selling  large- 


260  THE  GOD   IN  THE   CAR. 

ly — or  the  price  would  have  been  driven  higher.  It  is 
you,  perhaps,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  Not  a  share.  I  have  the  vices  of  an  aristocracy. 
I  am  stubborn." 

"  Who,  then  ?  " 

"  It  might  be — Dennison." 

The  Baron  nodded. 

"  But  what  did  you  want  with  'em,  Baron  ?  Will 
they  pay?" 

"  Oh,  I  doubt  that.  But  I  wanted  them.  Why 
should  Dennison  sell  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  he  doubts,  like  you." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  that." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Semingham. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  three  days  they  had 
many  conversations ;  the  talks  did  the  Baron  no  good 
nor,  as  his  doctor  significantly  said,  any  harm ;  and 
when  he  could  not  talk,  Semingham  sat  by  him  and 
told  stories.  He  spoke  too,  frequently,  of  Willie  Rus- 
ton,  and  of  the  Company — that  interested  the  Baron. 
And  at  last,  on  the  third  day,  they  began  to  speak  of 
Maggie  Dennison  ;  but  neither  of  them  connected  the 
two  names  in  talk.  Indeed  Semingham,  according  to 
his  custom,  had  rushed  at  the  possibility  of  ignoring 
such  connection.  Ruston's  disappearance  had  shown 
him  a  way  ;  and  he  embraced  the  happy  chance.  He 
was  always  ready  to  think  that  any  "fuss"  was  a  mis- 
take ;  and,  as  he  told  the  Baron,  Mrs.  Dennison  had 


TIIE  BARON'S  CONTRIBUTION.  201 

been  in  great  spirits  lately,  cheered  up,  it  seemed,  by 
the  prospect  of  her  husband's  immediate  arrival.  The 
Baron  smiled  to  hear  him  ;  then  he  asked, 

"  Do  you  think  she  would  come  to  see  me  ?  " 

Semingham  promised  to  ask  her ;  and,  although 
the  Baron  was  fit  to  see  nobody  the  next  day — for  he 
had  moved  swiftly  towards  his  journey's  end  in  those 
twenty-four  hours — yet  Mrs.  Dennison  came  and  was 
admitted  ;  and,  at  sight  of  the  Baron,  who  lay  yellow 
and  gasping,  forgot  both  her  acting  and,  for  an 
instant,  the  reality  which  it  hid. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried  before  she  could  stop  herself, 
"  how  ill  you  look  !     Let  me  make  you  comfortable  !  " 

The  Baron  did  not  deny  her.  He  had  something 
to  say  to  her. 

"  When  does  your  husband  come  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  she  briefly. 

She  did  all  she  could  for  his  comfort,  and  then  sat 
down  by  his  bedside.  He  had  an  interval  of  some 
freedom  from  oppression  and  his  mind  was  clear  and 
concentrated. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,"  he  began,  "  something  that 
I  have  done."  He  paused,  and  added  a  question, 
"  Huston  does  not  come  back  to  Dieppe,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"  I  think  not.  He  is  detained  on  business,"  she 
answered,  "  and  he  will  be  more  tied  when  my  hus- 
band leaves." 


262  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Your  husband  will  not  long  be  concerned  in  the 
Omofaga,"  said  he. 

She  started  ;  the  Baron  told  her  what  he  had  told 
Semingham. 

"  He  will  soon  resign  his  place  on  the  Board,  you 
will  see,"  he  ended. 

She  sat  silent. 

"  He  will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  it,  you 
will  see ; "  and,  turning  to  her,  he  asked  with  a  sudden 
spurt  of  vigour,  "  Do  you  know  why  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  ?  "  she  answered  steadily. 

"  And  I — I  have  done  my  part  too.  I  have  left 
him  some  money  (she  knew  that  the  Baron  did  not 
mean  her  husband)  and  all  the  shares  I  held." 

"  You've  done  that  ?  "  she  cried,  with  a  sudden 
light  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  do  not  want  to  know  why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  admired  him.     You  told  me  so." 

"  Yes,  that  in  part.  I  did  admire  him.  He  was 
what  I  have  never  been.  I  wish  he  was  here  now.  I 
should  like  to  look  at  that  face  of  his  before  I  die. 
But  it  was  not  for  his  sake  that  I  left  him  the  money. 
Why,  he  could  get  it  without  me  if  he  needed  it ! 
You  don't  ask  me  why  ?  " 

In  his  excitement  he  had  painfully  pulled  himself 
higher  up  on  his  pillows,  and  his  head  was  on  the 
level  with  hers  now.  He  looked  right  into  her  eyes. 
She  was  very  pale,  but  calm  and  self-controlled. 


THE  BARON'S  CONTRIBUTION.  263 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.     "  Why  have  you  ?  " 

"  It  will  make  him  independent  of  your  husband," 
said  the  Baron. 

Mrs.  Dennison  dropped  her  eyes  and  raised  them 
again  in  a  swift,  questioning  glance. 

"  Yes,  and  of  you.    He  need  not  look  to  you  now." 

He  paused  and  added,  slowly,  punctuating  every 
word, 

"  You  will  not  be  necessary  to  him  now." 

Mrs.  Dennison  met  his  gaze  full  and  straight ;  the 
Baron  stretched  out  his  hand. 

"  Ah,  forgive  me  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  said  she. 

"  I  saw  ;  I  knew  ;  I  have  felt  it.  Now  he  will  go 
away ;  he  will  not  lean  on  you  now.  I  have  set  him 
where  he  can  stand  alone." 

A  smile,  half  scornful  and  half  sad,  came  on  her 
face. 

"  You  hate  me,"  said  the  Baron.    "  But  I  am  right." 

"  I  was — we  were  never  necessary  to  him,"  said 
she.  "  Ah,  Baron,  this  is  no  news  you  give  me.  I 
know  him  better  than  that." 

He  raised  himself  higher  still,  panting  as  he  rested 
on  his  elbow.  His  head  craned  forward  towards  her 
as  he  whispered, 

"  I'm  a  dying  man.     You  can  tell  me." 

"  If  you  were  a  dead  man "  she  burst  out  pas- 
sionately.     Then    she    suddenly    recovered     herself. 


264  THE  GOD  IN   THE  CAR. 

"  My  dear  Baron,"  she  went  on,  "  I'm  very  glad  you've 
done  this  for  Mr.  Ruston." 

He  sank  down  on  his  pillows  with  a  weary  sigh. 

"  Let  him  alone,  let  him  alone,"  he  moaned.  "  You 
thought  yourself  strong." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  kindly,"  she  said,  speaking 
very  coldly.  "  Indeed,  that  you  should  think  of  me 
at  all  just  now  shows  it.  But,  Baron,  you  are  dis- 
quieting yourself  without  cause." 

"  I'm  an  old  man,  and  a  sick  man,"  he  pleaded, 
"  and  you,  my  dear " 

"  Ah,  suppose  I  have  been — whatever  you  like — 
indiscreet?     Well ?" 

She  paused,  for  he  made  a  feebly  impatient  ges- 
ture. Mrs.  Dennison  kept  silence  for  a  moment; 
then  in  a  low  tone  she  said, 

"  Baron,  why  do  you  speak  to  a  woman  about  such 
things,  unless  you  want  her  to  lie  to  you  ?  " 

The  Baron,  after  a  moment,  gave  his  answer,  that 
was  no  answer. 

"  He  is  gone,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  he  is  gone — to  look  after  his  railway." 

"  It  is  finished  then  ?  "  he  half  asked,  half  implored, 
and  just  caught  her  low-toned  reply. 

"Finished?  Who  for?"  Then  she  suddenly 
raised  her  voice,  crying,  "  What  is  it  to  you  ?  Why 
can't  I  be  let  alone?  How  dare  you  make  me  talk 
about  it?" 


THE   BARON'S  CONTRIBUTION.  265 

"  I  have  done,"  said  he,  and,  laying  his  thin  yellow 
hand  in  hers,  he  went  on,  "  If  you  meet  him  again — 
and  I  think  you  will — tell  him  that  I  longed  to  see 
him,  as  a  man  who  is  dying  longs  for  his  son.  lie 
would  be  a  breath  of  life  to  me  in  this  room,  where 
everything  seems  dead.     He  is  full  of  life — full  as  a 

tiger.      And  you  can  tell  him "      He  stopped  a 

moment  and  smiled.     "  You  can  tell  him  why  I  was 
a  buyer  of  Omofagas.     What  will  he  say  ?  " 

"  What  will  he  say  ? "  she  echoed,  with  wide- 
opened  eyes,  that  watched  the  old  man's  slow-moving 
lips. 

"  Will  he  weep  ?  "  asked  the  Baron. 

"  In  God's  name,  don't !  "  she  stammered. 

"  He  will  say,  '  Behold,  the  Baron  von  Geltschmidt 
was  a  good  man — he  was  of  use  in  the  world — may  he 
sleep  in  peace  ! '     And  now — how  goes  the  railway '? " 

The  old  man  lay  silent,  with  a  grim  smile  on  his 
face.  The  woman  sat  by,  with  lips  set  tight  in  an 
agony  of  repression.     At  last  she  spoke. 

"  If  I'd  known  you  were  going  to  tell  me  this,  I 
wouldn't  have  come." 

"It's  hard,  hard,  hard,  but " 

"  Oh,  not  that.     But— I  knew  it." 

She  rose  to  her  feet. 

"Good-bye,"  said  the  Baron.  "I  shan't  see  you 
again.     God  make  it  light  for  you,  my  dear." 

She  would  not  seem  to  hear  him.     She  smoothed 


266  THE   GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

his  pillows  and  his  scanty  straggling  hair;  then  she 
kissed  his  forehead. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said.  "  I  will  tell  Willie  when  I 
see  him.     I  shall  see  him  soon." 

The  old  man  moaned  softly  and  miserably. 

"  It  would  be  better  if  you  lay  here,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  answered,  almost  list- 
lessly.    "  Good-bye." 

Suddenly  he  detained  her,  catching  her  hand. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  people  meeting  again  any- 
where ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so.     No,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure." 

"  They've  been  telling  me  to  have  a  priest.  I  call 
myself  a  Catholic,  you  know.  What  can  I  say  to  a 
priest  ?  I  have  done  nothing  but  make  money.  If 
that  is  a  sin,  it's  too  simple  to  need  confession,  and 
I've  done  too  much  of  it  for  absolution.  How  can  I 
talk  to  a  priest  ?     I  shall  have  no  priest." 

She  did  not  speak,  but  let  him  hold  her  hand. 

"  If,"  he  went  on,  with  a  little  smile,  "  I'm  asked 
anywhere  what  I've  done,  I  must  say,  '  I've  made 
money.'     That's  all  I  shall  have  to  say." 

She  stooped  low  over  him  and  whispered, 

"  You  can  say  one  more  thing,  Baron — one  little 
tiling.  You  once  tried  to  save  a  woman,"  and  she 
kissed  him  again  and  was  gone. 

Outside  the  house,  she  found  Semingham  waiting 
for  her. 


X 

THE   BARON'S  CONTRIBUTION.  2G7 

"  Oh,  I  suy,  Mrs.  Dennison,"  lie  cried,  "  Harry's 
come.  He  got  away  a  day  earlier  than  he  expected. 
I  met  him  driving  up  towards  your  house." 

For  just  a  moment  she  stood  aghast.  It  came 
upon  her  with  a  shock  ;  between  a  respite  of  a  day 
and  the  actual  terrible  now,  there  had  seemed  a  gulf. 

"  Is  he  there — at  the  house — now  ?  "  she  asked. 

Semingham  nodded. 

"Will  you  walk  up  with  me?"  she  asked  eagerly. 
"  I  must  go  directly,  you  know.  He'll  be  so  sorry  not 
to  find  me  there.     Do  you  mind  coming?    I'm  tired." 

He  offered  his  arm,  and  she  almost  clutched  at  it, 
but  she  walked  with  nervous  quickness. 

"  He's  looking  very  wTell,"  said  Semingham.  "  A 
bit  fagged,  and  so  on,  you  know,  of  course,  but  he'll 
soon  get  all  right  here." 

"  Yes,  yes,  very  soon,"  she  replied  absently,  quick- 
ening her  pace  till  he  had  to  force  his  to  match  it. 
But,  half-way  up  the  hill,  she  stopped  suddenly, 
breathing  rapidly. 

"  Yes,  take  a  rest,  we've  been  bucketing,"  said  he. 

"  Did  he  ask  after  me  ?  " 

"Yes;  directly." 

"And  you  said ?" 

"  Oh,  that  you  were  all  right,  Mrs.  Dennison." 

"  Thanks.     Has  he  seen  Mr.  Loring?  " 

"No;  but  he  knew  he  had  come  here.  He  told 
me  so." 


268  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Well,  I  needn't  take  you  right  up,  need  I  ?  " 

Semiugham  thought  of  some  jest  about  not  in- 
truding on  the  sacred  scene,  but  the  jest  did  not 
come.  Somehow  he  shrank  from  it.  Mrs.  Dennison 
did  not. 

"  We  shall  want  to  fall  on  one  another's  necks," 
said  she,  smiling.  "  And  you'd  feel  in  the  way.  You 
hate  honest  emotions,  you  know." 

He  nodded,  lifted  his  hat,  and  turned.  On  his 
way  down  alone,  he  stopped  once  for  a  moment  and 
exclaimed, 

"  Good  heavens  !  And  I  believe  she'd  rather  meet 
the  devil  himself.     She  is  a  woman  !  " 

Mrs.  Dennison  pursued  her  way  at  a  gentler  pace. 
Before  she  came  in  sight,  she  heard  her  children's  de- 
lighted chatterings,  and,  a  moment  later,  Harry's 
hearty  tones.  His  voice  brought  to  her,  in  fullest 
force,  the  thing  that  was  always  with  her — with  her  as 
the  cloak  that  a  man  hath  upon  him,  and  as  the  girdle 
that  he  is  always  girded  withal. 

When  the  children  saw  her,  they  ran  to  her,  seiz- 
ing her  hands  ami  dragging  her  towards  Harry.  A 
little  way  off  stood  Marjory  Valentine,  with  a  nervous 
smile  on  her  lips.  Harry  himself  stood  waiting,  and 
Mrs.  Dennison  walked  up  to  him  and  kissed  him. 
Not  till  that  was  done  did  she  speak  or  look  him  in 
the  face.  He  returned  her  kiss,  and  then,  talking 
rapidly,  she  made  him  sit  down,  and  sat  herself,  and 


THE  BARON'S  CONTRIBUTION.  2G9 

took  her  little  boy  on  her  knee.  And  she  called  Mar- 
jory, telling  her  jokingly  that  she  was  one  of  the 
family. 

Harry  began  to  talk  of  his  journey,  and  they  all 
joined  in.  Then  he  grew  silent,  and  the  children 
chattered  more  about  the  delights  of  Dieppe,  and  how 
all  would  be  perfect  now  that  father  was  come.  And, 
under  cover  of  their  chatter,  Maggie  Dennison  stole  a 
long  covert  glance  at  her  husband. 

"  And  Tom's  here,  father,"  cried  the  little  boy  on 
her  lap  exultingly. 

"  Yes,"  chimed  in  Madge,  "  and  Mr.  Ruston's 
gone." 

There  was  a  momentary  pause ;  then  Mrs.  Denni- 
son, in  her  calmest  voice,  began  to  tell  her  husband  of 
the  sickness  of  the  Baron.  And  over  Harry  Denni- 
son's  face  there  rested  a  new  look,  and  she  felt  it  on 
her  as  she  talked  of  the  Baron.  She  had  seen  him 
before  unsatisfied,  puzzled,  and  bewildered  by  her,  but 
never  before  with  this  look  on  his  face.  It  seemed  to 
her  half  entreaty  and  half  suspicion.  It  was  plain  for 
everyone  to  see.  He  kept  his  eyes  on  her,  and  she 
knew  that  Marjory  must  be  reading  him  as  she  read 
him.  And  under  that  look  she  went  on  talking  about 
the  Baron.  The  look  did  not  frighten  her.  She  did 
not  fear  his  suspicions,  for  she  believed  he  would  still 
take  her  word  against  all  the  world — ay,  against  the 

plainest  proof.     But  she  almost  broke  under  the  bur- 
18 


270  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

den  of  it;  it  made  her  heart  sick  with  pity  for  him. 
She  longed  to  cry  out,  then  and  there,  "  It  isn't  true, 
Harry,  my  poor  dear,  it  isn't  true."  She  could  tell 
him  that — it  would  not  be  all  a  lie.  And  when  the 
children  went  away  to  prepare  for  lunch,  she  did  much 
that  very  thing  ;  for,  with  a  laughing  glance  of  apol- 
ogy at  Marjory,  she  sat  on  her  husband's  knee  and 
kissed  him  twice  on  either  check,  whispering, 

"  I'm  so  glad  you've  come,  Harry." 

And  he  caught  her  to  him  with  sudden  violence — 
unlike  his  usual  manner,  and  looked  into  her  eyes  and 
kissed  her.  Then  they  rose,  and  he  turned  towards 
the  house. 

For  a  moment  Marjory  and  Mrs.  Dennison  were 
alone  together.  Mrs.  Dennison  spoke  in  a  loud  clear 
voice — a  voice  her  husband  must  hear. 

"  We're  shamefully  foolish,  aren't  we,  Marjory  ?  " 

The  girl  made  no  answer,  but,  as  she  looked  at 
Maggie  Dennison,  she  burst  into  a  sudden  convulsive 
sob. 

"  Hush,  hush,"  whispered  Maggie  eagerly.  "  My 
God  !  if  I  can,  you  can  !  " 

So  they  went  in  and  joined  the  children  at  their 
merry  noisy  meal. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A   JOINT   IN    HIS    ARMOUR. 

Willie  Ruston  slept,  on  the  night  following  his 
return  to  London,  in  the  Carlins'  house  at  Hamp- 
stead.  The  all-important  question  of  the  railway 
made  a  consultation  necessary,  and  Ruston's  indispo- 
sition to  face  his  solitary  rooms  caused  him  to  aecept 
gladly  the  proffered  hospitality.  The  little  cramped 
place  was  always  a  refuge  and  a  rest ;  there  he  could 
hest  rejoice  over  a  victory  or  forget  a  temporary 
defeat.  There  he  fled  now,  in  the  turmoil  of  his 
mind.  The  question  of  the  railway  had  hurried  him 
from  Dieppe,  but  it  could  not  carry  away  from  him 
the  memories  of  Dieppe.  Yet  that  was  the  office  he 
had  already  begun  to  ask  of  it — of  it  and  of  the  quiet 
busy  life  at  Hampstead,  where  he  lingered  till  a  week 
stretched  to  two  and  to  three,  spending  his  days  at 
work  in  the  City,  and  his  evenings,  after  his  romp 
with  the  children,  in  earnest  and  eager  talk  and 
speculation.  He  regretted  bitterly  his  going  to  Di- 
eppe.   He  had  done  what  he  condemned  ;  he  had  raised 

(271) 


272  THE  GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

up  a  perpetual  reproach  and  a  possible  danger.  He 
was  not  a  man  who  could  dismiss  sucli  a  thing  with  a 
laugh  or  a  sneer,  with  a  pang  of  penitence  and  a 
swift  reaction  to  the  low  levels  of  morality,  with  a 
regret  for  imprudence  and  a  prayer  against  conse- 
queuccs.  His  nature  was  too  deep,  and  the  influence 
he  had  met  too  strong,  for  any  of  these  to  be  enough. 
Yet  he  had  suffered  the  question  of  the  railway  to 
drag  him  away  at  a  moment's  notice ;  and  he  was 
persuaded  that  he  must  take  his  leaving  as  setting  an 
end  to  all  that  had  passed.  All  that  must  be  put 
behind  ;  forgetfulness  in  thought  might  be  a  relief 
impossible  to  attain,  a  relief  that  he  would  be  ashamed 
of  striving  to  attain;  but  forgetfulness  in  act  seemed  a 
duty  to  be  done.  In  his  undeviating  reference  of  every- 
thing to  his  own  work  in  life  and  his  neglect  of  any 
other  touchstone,  he  erected  into  an  obligation  what 
to  another  would  have  been  a  shameless  matter  of 
course ;  or,  again,  to  yet  another,  a  source  of  shame- 
faced relief.  His  sins  were  sin  first  against  himself, 
in  the  second  degree  only  against  the  participant  in 
them;  his  preoccupation  with  their  first  quality  went 
far  to  blind  him  to  the  second. 

Yet  lie  was  very  sorry  for  Maggie  Dennison.  Nay, 
those  words  were  ludicrously  feeble  for  the  meaning 
he  wanted  from  them.  Acutely  conscious  of  having 
done  her  a  wrong,  he  was  vaguely  aware  that  ho 
might  underestimate   the    wrong,   and    remembered 


A  JOINT  IN   HIS  ARMOUR.  '273 

uneasily  how  she  had  told  him  that  he  did  not  under- 
stand, and  despaired  because  he  could  not  understand. 
lie  felt  more  for  her  now — much  more,  it  seemed  to 
him  ;  but  the  consciousness  of  failure  to  put  himself 
where  she  stood  dogged  him,  making  him  afraid 
sometimes  that  he  could  not  realise  her  sufferinjrs, 
sometimes  that  he  was  imputing  to  her  fictitious  tor- 
tures and  a  sense  of  ignominy  which  was  not  her  own. 
Searching  light,  he  began  to  talk  to  Carlin  in  general 
terms,  of  course,  and  by  way  of  chance  discourse ;  and 
he  ran  up  against  a  curious  stratum  of  Puritanism 
imbedded  amongst  the  man's  elastic  principles.  The 
narrowest  and  harshest  judgment  of  an  erring  woman 
accompanied  the  supple  trader  and  witnessed  the  sur- 
viving barbarian  in  Mr.  Carlin ;  an  accidental  distant 
allusion  displayed  an  equally  relentless  attitude  in  his 
meek  hard-working  little  wife.  Willie  Ruston  drew 
in  his  feelers,  and,  aghast  at  the  evil  these  opinions 
stamped  as  the  product  of  his  acts,  declared  for  a 
moment  that  his  life  must  be  the  only  and  insufficient 
atonement.  The  moment  was  a  brief  one.  He  dis- 
missed the  opinions  with  a  curse,  their  authors  with  a 
smile,  and  did  not  scorn  to  take  for  comfort  even 
Maggie  Dennison's  own  enthusiasm  for  his  work. 
That  had  drawn  them  together ;  that  must  rule  and 
limit  the  connection  which  it  had  created.  An  end — 
a  bound — a  peremptory  stop  (there  was  still  time  to 
stop)  was  the  thiug.     She  would  see  that,  as  he  saw  it. 


274  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

God  knew  (he  said  to  himself)  what  a  wrench  it  was 
— for  she  meant  more  to  him  than  he  had  ever  con- 
ceived a  woman  could  mean  ;  but  the  wrench  must 
be  undergone.  He  would  rather  die  than  wreck  his 
work ;  and  she,  he  knew,  rather  die  than  prove  a 
wrecking  siren  to  him. 

Suddenly,  across  the  desponding  stubbornness  of 
his  resolves,  flashed,  with  a  bright  white  light,  the 
news  of  the  Baron's  legacy,  accompanying,  but,  after 
a  hasty  regretful  thought  and  a  kindly  regretful  smile, 
obliterating  the  fact  of  the  Baron's  death.  Half  the 
steps  upward,  he  felt,  which  he  had  set  himself  pain- 
fully and  with  impatient  labour  to  cut,  were  hewn 
deej)  and  smooth  for  his  feet ;  he  had  now  but  to 
tread,  and  lift  his  foot  and  tread  again.  From  a  paid 
servant  of  his  Company,  powerful  only  by  a  secret 
influence  unbased  on  any  substantial  foundation,  he 
leapt  to  the  position  of  a  shareholder  with  a  larger 
stake  than  any  man  besides ;  no  intrigue  could  shake 
him  now,  no  sudden  gust  of  petulant  impatience  at 
the  tardiness  of  results  displace  him.  lie  had  never 
thought  of  this  motive  behind  the  Baron's  large  pur- 
chases of  Omofaga  shares  ;  as  he  thought  of  it,  he  had 
not  been  himself  had  he  not  smiled.  And  his  smile 
was  of  the  same  quality  as  had  burst  on  his  face  when 
firsl  Maggie  Dennison  dropped  the  veil  and  owned 
his  sway. 

One  day  he  did  not  go  down  to  the  city,  but  spent 


A  JOINT   IN    HIS   ARMOUR.  275 

his  time  wandering  on  the  heath,  mapping  out  what 
lie  would  do  in  the  fast-approaching  days  in  Omofaga. 
The  prospects  were  clearing ;  he  had  had  two  inter- 
views with  Lord  Detchmore,  and  the  Minister  had 
fallen  back  from  his  own  objections  on  to  the  scruples 
of  his  colleagues.  It  was  a  promising  sign,  and  Wil- 
lie was  pressing  his  advantage.  The  fall  in  the  shares 
had  been  checked  ;  Tom  Loring  wrote  no  more ;  and 
Mrs.  Carlin  had  forgotten  to  mourn  the  extinct  coal 
business.  He  came  home,  with  a  buoyant  step,  at 
four  o'clock,  to  find  Carlin  awaiting  him  with  dis- 
mayed face.  There  was  the  worst  of  news  from 
Queen  Street.  Mr.  Dennison  had  written  announcing 
resignation  of  his  place  on  the  Board. 

"  It's  a  staggering  blow,"  said  Carlin,  thrusting  his 
hands  into  his  pockets.  "  Can't  you  bring  him  round  ? 
Why  is  he  doing  it?" 

"  Well,  what  does  he  say?"  asked  Ruston,  a*  frown 
on  his  brow. 

"  Oh,  some  nonsense — pressure  of  other  business 
or  something  of  that  kind.  Can't  you  go  and  see 
him,  Willie?  He's  back  in  town.  He  writes  from 
Curzon  Street." 

"  I  don't  know  why  he  does  it,"  said  Ruston  slow- 
ly.    "  I  knew  he'd  been  selling  out." 

"  He  hasn't  made  money  at  that." 

"  No.  I've  made  the  profit  there,"  said  Ruston, 
with  a  sudden  smile. 


276  TIIE  G0D  IN  TIIE  CAR- 


uTl 


The  Baron  bought  'em,  eh?"  laughed  Carlin. 
"  You  generally  come  out  right  side  up,  Willie.  You'll 
go  and  see  him,  though,  won't  you  ?  " 

Yes.  He  would  go.  That  was  the  resolution 
which  in  a  moment  he  reached.  If  there  were  dan- 
ger, he  must  face  it,  if  there  were  calamity,  he  must 
know  it.     He  would  go  and  see  Harry  Dennison. 

As  he  was,  on  the  stroke  of  half- past  four,  he 
jumped  into  a  hansom-cab,  and  bade  the  man  drive  to 
Curzon  Street. 

Harry  was  not  at  home — nor  Mrs.  Dennison,  added 
the  servant,     But  both  were  expected  soon. 

"  I'll  wait,"  said  Willie,  and  he  was  shown  up  into 
the  drawing-room. 

As  the  servant  opened  the  door,  he  said  in  his  low 
respectful  tones, 

"  Mrs.  Cormack  is  here,  sir,  waiting  for  Mrs.  Den- 


nison." 


A  moment  later  Willie  Ruston  was  overwhelmed 
in  a  shrilly  enthusiastic  greeting.  Mrs.  Cormack  had 
been  in  despair  from  ennui;  Maggie's  delay  was  end- 
less, and  Mr.  Ruston  was  in  verity  a  godsend.  Indeed 
there  was  every  appearance  of  sincerity  in  the  lady's 
welcome.  She  stood  and  looked  at  him  with  an  ex- 
pression of  most  wicked  and  mischievous  pleasure. 
The  remorse  detected  by  Tom  Loring  was  not  visible 
now;  pun;  delight  reigned  supreme,  and  gave  free 
scope  to  her  frivolous  fearlessness. 


A  JOINT   IN   HIS   ARMOUR.  277 

"Enfui!"  she  said.  "Behold  the  villain  of  the 
piece ! " 

He  opened  his  eyes  in  questioning. 

"Oh,  you  think  to  deceive  me  too?  Why,  I  have 
prophesied  it." 

"You  are,"  said  Willie,  standing  on  the  hearth- 
rug, and  gazing  at  her  nervous  restless  figure,  so  rich 
in  half-expressed  hints  too  subtle  for  language,  "  the 
most  outrageous  of  women,  Mrs.  Oormack.  Fortu- 
nately you  have  a  fling  at  everybody,  and  the  saints 
come  off  as  badly  as  the  sinners." 

A  shrug  asserted  her  opinion  of  his  pretences.  He 
answered, 

"  I  really  am  so  unfortunate  as  not  to  have  the 
least  idea  what  you're  driving  at." 

An  inarticulate  scornful  little  sound  greeted  this 
protest. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  shall  wait  till  you  say  something,"  re- 
marked Willie,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  can't  deny  villainies 
wholesale,  and  I  can't  argue  against  Gallic  ejacula- 
tions." 

"  You  still  come  here  ? "  she  asked,  ignoring  his 
rudeness,  and  coming  to  close  quarters  with  native 
audacity. 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  walked 
up  to  her  chair,  and  stood  over  her.  She  leant  back, 
gazing  up  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  Look    here !      Don't    talk    nonsense,"    he    said 


278  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

brusquely;   "even  such   talk  as  yours  may  do  harm 
with  fools." 

"  Fools  ! "  she  echoed.     "  You  mean ?  " 

"  More  than  half  the  world,"  he  interrupted. 

"  Including ?"  she  began  again  in  mockery. 

"  Some  of  our  acquaintance,"  he  answered,  with 
the  glimmer  of  a  smile. 

"Ah,  I  thought  you  were  angry!"  she  cried, 
pointing  at  the  smile  on  his  lips. 

"  I  shall  be,  if  you  don't  hold  your  tongue." 

"  You  beg  me  to  be  silent,  Mr.  Ruston  ?  " 

"  I  desire  you  not  to  chatter  about  me,  Mrs.  Cor- 
mack." 

"  Ah,  what  politeness  !  1  shall  say  what  I  please," 
and  she  rose  and  stood  facing  him  defiantly. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  "  that  I  could  tell  you  what 
they  do  to  gossiping  women  in  Omofaga.  It  is  so  very 
disagreeable — and  appropriate." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  hearing." 

"  I  can  believe  it,  but  I  mind  saying." 

She  flushed,  and  her  breath  came  more  quickly. 

"  Xo  doubt  you  will  enforce  the  treatment — in 
your  own  interest,"  she  said. 

"  You  won't  be  there,"  replied  he,  with  affected 
regret. 

"  Well,  here  I  shall  say  what  I  please." 

"And  who  will  listen?" 

"One    man,    at    least,"    she    cried,    in    incautious 


A  JOINT  IN  HIS  ARMOUR.  270 

anger.  "  Ah,  you'd  like  to  beat  me,  wouldn't 
you  ?  " 

"Why  suggest  the  impossible?"  he  asked,  smil- 
ing.    "  I  can't  beat  every "     He  paused,  and  added 

with  deliberateness,  "  every  vulgar-minded  woman  in 
London ; "  and  turning  his  back  on  her,  he  sat  down 
and  took  up  a  newspaper  that  lay  on  the  table. 

For  full  five  or  six  minutes  Mrs.  Cormack  sat 
silent.  Willie  Huston  glanced  through  the  leading 
article,  and  turned  the  paper,  folding  it  neatly.  There 
was  a  letter  from  a  correspondent  on  the  subject  of 
the  watersheds  of  Central  South  Africa,  and  he  was 
reading  it  with  attention.  He  thought  that  he  recog- 
nised Tom  Loring's  hand.  The  watersheds  of  Omo- 
faga  were  not  given  their  due.  Ah,  and  here  was  that 
old  falsehood  about  arid  wastes  round  Fort  Imperial ! 

"  By  Jove,  it's  too  bad !  "  he  exclaimed  aloud. 

Mrs.  Cormack,  who  had  for  the  last  few  moments 
been  watching  him,  first  with  a  frown,  then  with  a 
half -incredulous,  half-amazed  smile,  burst  out  into 
laughter. 

"  Really,  one  might  as  well  be  offended  with  a 
grizzly  bear !  "  she  cried. 

He  put  down  the  paper,  and  met  her  gaze. 

"How  in  the  world,"  she  went  on,  "does  she — 
there,  I  beg  your  pardon.  How  does  anyone  endure 
you,  Mr.  Ruston?" 

As  she   spoke,  before  he   could  answer,  the  door 


280  THE  GOD  IN   THE  CAR. 

opened,  and  Harry  Dennison  came  in.  He  entered 
with  a  hesitating  step.  After  greeting  Mrs.  Cormack, 
he  advanced  towards  Ruston.  The  latter  held  out  his 
hand,  and  Harry  took  it.  He  did  not  look  Ruston  in 
the  eyes. 

"How  are  you?"  said  he.  "You  want  to  see 
me  ?  " 

"  Well,  for  a  moment,  if  you  can  spare  the  time — 
on  business." 

"  Is  it  about  my  letter  to  Carlin  ?  " 

Ruston  nodded.     Mrs.  Cormack  kept  a  close  watch. 

"  I — I  can't  alter  that,"  said  Hurry,  in  a  confused 
way.  "  Sir  George  is  so  crippled  now,  so  much  of  the 
work  falls  on  me ;  I  have  really  no  time." 

"  You  might  have  left  us  your  name." 

"  I  couldn't  do  that,  could  I?  Suppose  you  came 
to  grief?"  and  he  laughed  uncomfortably. 

Willie  Ruston  was  afflicted  by  a  sense  of  weakness 
— a  vulnerability  new  in  his  experience — forbidding 
him  to  be  urgent  with  the  renegade.  Had  Carlin  been 
present,  he  would  have  stood  astounded  at  his  chief's 
tonguetiedness.  Mrs.  Cormack  smiled  at  it,  and  her 
smile,  caught  in  a  swift  glance  by  Ruston,  spurred  him 
to  a  voluble  appeal,  that  sounded  to  himself  hollow 
and  ineffective.  It  had  no  effect  on  Harry  Dennison, 
who  said  little, but  shook  his  head  with  unfailing  reso- 
lution. Mrs. Cormack  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  offer  matters  an  opportunity  of  development. 


A  JOINT   IN    HIS   ARMOUR.  281 

"  Rat  what  does  Maggie  say  to  your  desertion  ?  " 
she  asked  in  an  innocently  playful  way. 

Earry  seemed  nonplussed  at  the  question,  and  Wil- 
lie Huston  interposed. 

"  We  needn't  bring  Mrs.  Dennison  into  it,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "  It's  a  matter  of  business,  and  if  Dennison 
has  made  up  his  mind " 

He  ended  with  a  shrug,  and  took  up  his  hat. 

"  I — I  think  so,  Ruston,"  stumbled  Harry. 

"  Where  is  Maggie  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Cormack  curious- 
ly.    "  They  told  me  she  would  be  in  soon." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Harry.  "  She  went  out  driv- 
ing.    She's  sometimes  late  in  coming  back." 

Ruston  was  shaking  hands  with  Mrs.  Cormack, 
and,  when  he  walked  out,  Harry  followed  him.  The 
two  men  went  downstairs  in  silence.  Harry  opened 
the  front  door.  Willie  Ruston  held  out  his  hand, 
but  Harry  did  not  this  time  take  it.  Holding  the 
door-knob,  he  looked  at  his  visitor  with  a  puzzled 
entreaty  in  his  eyes,  and  his  visitor  suddenly  felt  sorry 
for  him. 

"  I  hope  Mrs.  Dennison  is  well  ? "  said  Ruston, 
after  a  pause. 

"  No,"  answered  Harry,  with  rough  abruptness. 
"  She's  not  well.  I  knew  how  it  would  be ;  I  told  you. 
You  would  go." 

"  My  dear  fellow " 

"  You  would  talk  to  her  about  your  miserable  Com- 


282  THE   GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

pany — our  Company,  if  you  like.  I  knew  it  would  do 
her  harm.     I  told  you  so." 

lie  was  pouring  out  his  incoherent  charges  and 
repetitions  in  a  fretful  petulance. 

"  The  doctor  says  her  nerves  are  all  wrong ;  she 
must  be  left  alone.     I  see  it.     She's  not  herself." 

"  Then  that,"  said  Ruston,  "  is  the  real  reason  why 
you're  severing  yourself  from  us  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  her  to  hear  anything  more  about  it; 
she  got  absorbed  in  it.  I  told  you  she  would,  but  you 
wouldn't  listen.  Tom  Loring  thought  just  the  same. 
But  you  would  go." 

"  Is  she  ill  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  that  she's  ill.  She's — she's  not 
herself.     She's  strange." 

The  note  of  distress  in  his  voice  grew  more  acute 
as  he  went  on. 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Willie,  baldly.  "Give  her 
my  best " 

"  If  you  want  to  see  me  again  about  it,  I — you'll 
always  know  where  to  find  me  in  the  City,  won't  you  ?" 
He  shuffled  his  feet  nervously,  and  twisted  the  door- 
knob as  he  spoke. 

"  You  mean,"  asked  Huston,  slowly,  "  that  I'd  bet- 
ter not  come  here?  " 

"Well,  yes — just  now,"  mumbled  Harry;  and  he 
added  apologetically,  "  She's  seeing  very  few  people 
just  now,  you  know." 


A  JOINT   IN   HIS  ARMOUR.  2S3 

"As  you  please,  of  course,"  said  Ruston,  shortly. 
"  I  daresay  you're  right.     I  should  like  to  say,  Denni- 

sou,  that  I  did  not  intend "     He  suddenly  stopped 

short.  There  was  no  need  to  rush  unbidden  into  more 
falseness.     "  Good-bye,"  he  said. 

Harry  took  the  offered  hand  in  a  limp  grasp,  but 
his  eyes  did  not  leave  the  ground.  A  moment  later  the 
door  closed,  and  Ruston  was  alone  outside — knowing 
that  he  had  been  turned  out — in  however  ineffective 
blundering  manner,  yet,  in  fact,  turned  out — and  by 
Harry  Dennison.  That  Harry  knew  nothing,  he  hardly 
felt  as  a  comfort;  that  perhaps  he  suspected  hardly 
as  a  danger.  He  was  angry  and  humiliated  that  such 
a  thing  should  happen,  and  that  he  should  be  power- 
less to  prevent,  and  without  title  to  resent,  the  blow. 

Looking  up  he  caught  sight  dimly  in  the  dim  light 
of  a  lithe  figure  and  a  mocking  face.  Mrs.  Cormack 
had  regained  her  own  house  by  means  of  the  little 
gate,  and  stood  leaning  over  the  balcony  smiling  at 
him  like  some  disguised  fiend  in  a  ballet  or  opera- 
bouffe.  He  heard  a  tinkling  laugh.  Had  she  lis- 
tened ?  She  was  capable  of  it,  and  if  she  had,  it 
might  well  be  that  she  had  caught  a  word  or  two. 
But  perhaps  his  air  and  attitude  were  enough  to  tell 
the  tale.  She  craned  her  neck  over  the  parapet,  and 
called  to  him. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  see  you  soon  again.  Of  course, 
you'll  be  coming  to  see  Maggie  soon  ?  " 


284  THE   GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

"  Oh,  soon,  I  hope,"  he  answered  sturdily,  and  the 
low  tinkle  of  laughter  rang  out  again  in  answer. 

Without  more,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked 
down  the  street,  a  morose  frown  on  his  brow. 

He  had  been  gone  some  half-hour  when,  just 
before  eight  o'clock,  Mrs.  Dennison's  victoria  drove 
quickly  up  to  the  door.  The  evening  was  chilly  and 
she  was  wearing  her  furs.  Her  face  rose  j>ale  and 
rigid  above  them ;  and  as  she  walked  to  the  house, 
her  steps  dragged  as  though  in  weariness.  She  did 
not  go  upstairs,  but  knocked,  almost  timidly,  at  the 
door  of  her  husband's  study.  Entering  in  obedience 
to  his  call,  she  found  him  sitting  in  his  deep  leathern 
arm-chair  by  the  fire.  She  leant  her  arm  on  the  back 
and  stared  over  his  head  into  the  fire. 

"  Anyone  been,  Harry  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  with  a  start. 

"Is  it  you,  Maggie?"  he  cried,  leaping  up  and 
seizing  her  hand.  "  Why,  how  cold  you  are,  dear  ! 
Come  and  sit  by  the  fire." 

She  did  as  he  bade  her. 

"  Any  visitors  ?  "  she  asked  again. 

"  Ruston,"  he  answered,  turning  and  poking  the 
fire  as  he  did  so.  "  He  came  to  see  me  about  the 
Company,  you  know." 

"  Is  he  long  gone?" 

"  Yes,  some  time." 

"  He  was  angry,  was  he  ?  " 


A   JOINT   IN    BIS  ARMOUR.  285 

"  Yes,  Maggie.  But  I  stuck  to  it.  I  won't  have 
anything  more  to  do  with  the  thing." 

His  petulance  betrayed  itself  again  in  his  voice. 
She  said  nothing,  and,  after  a  moment,  he  asked  anx- 
iously, 

"  Do  you  mind  much  ?  You  know  the  doc- 
tor  " 

"  Oh,  the  doctor !  No,  Harry,  I  don't  mind.  Do 
as  you  like.     He  can  get  on  without  us." 

"  If  you  really  mind,  I'll  try " 

"  No,  no,  no,"  she  burst  out.  "  You're  quite  right. 
Of  course  you're  right.  I  don't  want  you  to  go  on. 
I'm  tired  of  it  too." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  face  suddenly  bright- 
ening. "Are  you  really?  Then  I'm  glad  I  told 
Huston  not  to  come  bothering  about  it  here." 

Had  he  been  listening,  he  could  have  heard  the 
sharp  indrawing  of  her  breath. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  I  told  him  not  to  come  and  see  you  till — 
till  you  were  stronger." 

She  shot  a  terrified  glance  at  him.  His  expression 
was  merely  anxious  and,  according  to  its  wont  when 
he  was  in  a  difficulty,  apologetic. 

"  And  he  won't  be  here  much  longer  now,"  he 
added,  comfortingly. 

"  No,  not  much,"  she  forced  herself  to  murmur. 

"  Won't  you  go  and  dress  for  dinner  ?  "  he  asked, 
19 


286  THE    GOD  IN  THE   CAR. 

after  a  moment.  "  It's  ordered  for  a  quarter-past,  and 
it's  more  than  that  now." 

"Is  it?  I'll  come  directly.  You  go,  and  I'll 
follow  you.     I  shan't  be  long." 

He  came  near  to  where  she  sat. 

"  Are  you  feeling  better  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  Harry,  Harry,  I'm  well,  perfectly  well ! 
You  and  your  doctor  ! "  and  she  broke  into  an  im- 
patient laugh.  "  You'll  persuade  me  into  the  grave 
before  you've  done." 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  then,  shaping 
his  lips  to  whistle,  sounded  a  few  dreary  notes  and 
stole  out  of  the  room. 

She  heard  the  door  close,  and,  sitting  up,  stretched 
her  arms  over  her  head.  Then  she  sighed  for  relief 
at  his  going.     It  was  much  to  be  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A   TOAST   IN    CHAMPAGNE. 

"  A  month  to-day  ! "  said  Lady  Valentine,  pausing 
in  her  writing  (she  had  just  set  "  Octr.  10th  "  at  the 
head  of  her  paper)  and  gazing  sorrowfully  across  the 
room  at  Marjory. 

Marjory  knew  well  what  she  meant.  The  poor 
woman  was  counting  the  days  that  still  lay  between 
her  and  the  departure  of  her  son. 

"  Now  don't,  mother,"  protested  Marjory. 

"  Oh,  I  know  I'm  silly.  I  met  Mr.  Huston  at  the 
Seminghams'  yesterday,  and  he  told  me  that  there 
wasn't  the  least  danger,  and  that  it  was  a  glorious 
chance  for  Walter — just  what  you  said  from  the  first, 
dear — and  that  Walter  could  run  over  and  see  me  in 
about  eighteen  months'  time.  Oh,  but,  Marjory,  I 
know  it's  dangerous  !  " 

Marjory  rose  and  crossed  over  to  where  her  moth- 
er sat.  , 

"  You  must  be  a  Spartan  matron,  dear,"  said  she. 
"  You  can't  keep  Walter  in  leading  strings  all  his  life." 

(287) 


2S8  THE   GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

"  No;  but  he  might  have  stayed  here,  and  got  on, 
and  gone  into  Parliament,  and  so  on."  She  paused 
and  added,  "  Like  Evan,  you  know." 

Marjory  coloured — more  from  self-reproach  than 
embarrassment.  She  had  gone  in  these  last  weeks 
terribly  near  to  forgetting  poor  Evan's  existence. 

"  Evan  came  in  while  I  was  at  the  Seminghams'. 
He  looked  so  dull,  poor  fellow.  I — I  asked  him  to 
dinner,  Marjory.  He  hasn't  been  here  for  a  long 
while.  We  haven't  seen  nearly  as  much  of  him  since 
we  knew  Mr.  Huston.  I  don't  think  they  like  one 
another." 

"  You  know  why  he  hasn't  come  here,"  said  Mar- 
jory softly. 

"  He  spent  a  week  with  me  while  you  were  at 
Dieppe.     He  seemed  to  like  to  hear  about  you." 

A  smile  of  sad  patience  appeared  on  Marjory's 
face. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  are  such  a  bad  hinter,"  she 
half  laughed,  half  moaned. 

"  Poor  Evan  !  I'm  very  sorry  for  him  ;  but  I  can't 
help  it,  can  I?" 

"It  would  have  been  so  nice." 

"  Ami  you  used  to  be  such  a  mercenary  creature  !" 

"Ah,  well,  my  dear,  I  want  to  keep  one  of  my 
children  with  me.     But,  if  it  can't  be,  it  can't." 

Marjory  bent  down  and  whispered  in  her  mother's 
ear,  "  I'm  not  going  to  Omofaga,  dear." 


A  TOAST  IN  CHAMPAGNE.  289 

"Well,  I  used  to  be  half  afraid  of  it,"  admitted 
Lady  Valentine  (she  forgot  that  she  had  half  hoped  it 
also) ;  "  but  you  never  seem  to  be  interested  in  him 
now.     Do  you  mind  Evan  coming  to  dinner?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Marjory. 

Since  her  return  from  Dieppe  she  had  seemed  to 
"  mind "  nothing.  Relaxation  of  the  strain  under 
which  her  days  passed  there  had  left  her  numbed. 
She  was  conscious  only  of  a  passionate  shrinking  from 
the  sight  or  company  of  the  two  people  who  had  there 
filled  her  life.  To  meet  them  again  forced  her  back 
in  thought  to  that  dreary  mysterious  night  with  its 
unsolved  riddle,  that  she  feared  seeking  to  answer. 

Her  mother  had  called  on  Maggie  Dennison,  and 
came  back  with  a  flow  of  kindly  lamentations  over 
Maggie's  white  cheeks  and  listless  weary  air.  Her 
brother  was  constantly  with  Ruston,  and  tried  to  per- 
suade her  to  join  parties  of  which  he  was  to  be  one. 
She  fenced  with  both  of  them,  escaping  on  one  plea 
and  another;  and  Maggie's  acquiescence  in  her  ab- 
sence, no  less  than  Ruston's  failure  to  make  a  chance 
of  meeting  her,  strengthened  her  resolve  to  remain 
aloof. 

Young  Sir  Walter  also  came  to  dinner  that  night ; 
he  was  very  gay  and  chatty,  full  of  Omofaga  and  his 
fast-approaching  expedition.  He  greeted  Evan  Hasel- 
den  with  a  manner  that  claimed  at  least  equality ;  nay, 
he  lectured  him  a  little  on  the  ignorant  interference 


290  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

of  a  stay-at-home  House  of  Commons  with  the  work 
of  the  men  on  the  spot,  in  South  Africa  and  else- 
where ;  people  on  this  side  would  not  give  a  man  a 
free  hand,  he  complained,  and  exhorted  Evan  to  take 
no  part  in  such  ill-advised  meddling. 

Hence  he  was  led  on  to  the  topic  he  was  never  now 
far  away  from — Willie  Euston — and  he  reproached 
his  mother  and  sister  for  their  want  of  attention  to 
the  hero. 

This  was  the  first  gleam  of  light  for  poor  Evan 
Haselden,  for  it  told  him  that  Willie  Ruston  was  not, 
as  he  had  feared,  a  successful  rival.  He  rejoiced  at 
Lady  Valentine's  hinted  dislike  of  Ruston,  and  anx- 
iously studied  Marjory's  face  in  hope  of  detecting  a 
like  disposition.  But  his  vanity  led  him  to  return 
Walter's  lecture,  and  he  added  an  innuendo  concern- 
ing the  unscrupulousness  of  adventurers  who  cloaked 
money-making  under  specious  pretences.  Walter 
flared  up  in  a  moment,  and  the  dinner  ended  in  some- 
thing like  a  dispute  between  the  two  young  men. 

"  Well,  Dennison's  found  him  out,  anyhow,"  said 
Evan  bitterly.     "He's  cut  the  whole  concern." 

"  We  can  do  without  Dennison,"  said  young  Sir 
Walter  scornfully. 

When  the  meal  was  finished,  young  Sir  Walter, 
treating  his  friend  without  ceremony,  carelessly  plead- 
ed an  engagement,  and  went  out.  Lady  Valentine, 
interpreting  Evan's  glances,  and  hoping  against  hope, 


A  TOAST   IN   CHAMPAGNE.  201 

seized  the  chance  of  leaving  him  alone  with  her 
daughter.  Marjory  watched  the  manoeuvre  without 
thwarting  it.  Her  heart  was  more  dead  to  Evan  than 
it  had  ever  been.  Her  experiences  at  Dieppe  had 
aged  her  mind,  and  she  found  him  less  capable  of 
stirring  any  feeling  in  her  than  even  in  the  days  when 
she  had  half  made  a  hero  out  of  Willie  Ruston. 

She  waited  for  his  words  in  resignation ;  and  he, 
acute  enough  to  mark  her  moods,  began  as  a  man  be- 
gins who  rushes  on  anticipated  defeat.  What  is  unin- 
telligible seems  most  irresistible,  and  he  knew  not  at 
what  point  to  attack  her  indifference.  He  saw  the 
change  in  her ;  he  could  have  dated  its  beginning. 
The  cause  he  found  somehow  in  Ruston,  but  yet  it 
was  clear  to  him  that  she  did  not  think  of  Ruston  as 
a  suitor — almost  clear  that  she  heard  his  name  and 
thought  of  him  with  repulsion — and  that  the  attrac- 
tion he  had  once  exercised  over  her  was  gone. 

The  weary  talk  wore  to  its  close,  ending  with  an- 
gry petulance  on  his  side,  and,  at  last,  on  hers  with  a 
grief  that  was  half  anger.  He  could  not  believe  in 
her  decision,  unless  there  were  one  who  had  displaced 
him ;  and,  seeing  none  save  Ruston,  in  spite  of  his 
own  convictions,  he  broke  at  last  into  a  demand  to  be 
told  whether  she  thought  of  him.  Marjory  started  in 
horror,  crying,  "  No,  no,"  and,  for  all  Evan's  preoccu- 
pation, her  vehemence  amazed  him. 

"  Oh,  you've  found  him   out    too,   perhaps,"   he 


292  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

sneered.  "  You've  found  him  out  by  now.  All  the 
same,  it  was  his  fault  that  you  didn't  care  for  me  be- 
fore." 

"  Evan,"  she  implored,  "  do,  pray,  not  talk  like 
that.  There's  not  a  man  in  the  whole  world  that  I 
would  not  have  for  my  husband  rather  than  him." 

"  Now,"  he  repeated ;  "  but  I'm  speaking  of  be- 
fore." 

Half  angry  again  at  that  he  should  allow  himself 
such  an  insinuation,  she  yet  liked  him  too  well,  and 
felt  too  unhappy  to  be  insincere. 

"  Well,"  she  said  with  a  troubled  smile,  "  if  you 
like,  I've  found  him  out." 

"  Then,  Marjory,"  cried  Evan,  in  a  spasm  of  re- 
viving hope,  "  if  that  fellow's  out  of  the  way " 

But  she  would  not  hear  him,  and  he  flung  himself 
out  of  the  house  with  a  rudeness  that  his  love  par- 
doned. 

She  heard  him  go,  in  aching  sorrow  that  he,  who 
felt  few  things  deeply,  should  fed  this  one  so  deeply. 
Then,  following  the  calls  of  society,  which  are  followed 
in  spite  of  most  troubles,  she,  pale-faced  and  sad,  and 
her  mother,  almost  weeping  in  motherly  distress, 
dressed  themselves  to  go  to  a  party.  Lady  Seming- 
ham  was  at  home  that  night. 

At  the  party  all  was  gay  and  bright.  Lady  Sem- 
ingham  was  chattering  to  Mr.  Otto  Heather.  Scm- 
ingham  was  trying  to  make  Mr.  Foster  Belford  under- 


A   TOAST   IN   CHAMPAGNE.  203 

stand  the  story  of  the  Baron  and  Willie  Ruston,  Lord 
Detchmore,  who  had  come  in  from  a  public  dinner, 
was  conspicuous  in  his  blue  riband,  and  was  listening 
to  Adela  Ferrars  with  a  smile  on  his  face.  Marjory 
sat  down  in  a  corner,  hoping  to  escape  introductions, 
and,  when  an  old  friend  carried  her  mother  off  to  eat 
an  ice,  she  kept  her  place.  Presently  she  heard  cried, 
"  Mrs.  Dennison,"  and  Maggie  came  in  with  her  usual 
grace.  It  seemed  as  though  the  last  few  months  were 
blotted  out,  and  they  were  all  again  at  that  first  party 
at  Mrs.  Dennison's  where  Willie  Ruston  had  made  his 
entree.  The  illusion  was  not  to  lack  confirmation,  for, 
a  moment  later,  Ruston  himself  was  announced,  and 
the  sound  of  his  name  made  Adela  turn  her  head  for 
one  swift  moment  from  her  distinguished  companion. 

"Ah!"  said  Lord  Detch more,  "then  I  must  go. 
If  I  talk  to  him  any  more  I'm  a  lost  man." 

"  There's  Mr.  Loring  in  the  corner — no,  not  that 
corner ;  that's  Marjory  Valentine.  He  will  take  your 
side." 

"Why  are  they  all  in  corners?"  asked  Detchmore. 

"  They  don't  want  to  be  trodden  on,"  said  Adela, 
with  a  grimace.     "  You'd  better  take  one  too." 

"  There's  Mrs.  Dennison  in  a  third  corner.  Shall 
I  take  that  one,  or  should  I  get  trodden  on  there  ?  " 

Adela  looked  up  swiftly.  His  remark  hinted  at 
gossip  afloat. 

"  Take  one  for  yourself,"  she  began,  with  an  un- 


294  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

easy  laugh.  But  the  laugh  suddenly  became  genuine 
for  the  very  absurdity  of  the  thing.  "  We'll  go  and 
join  Mr.  Loring,  shall  we  ?  "  she  proposed. 

Lord  Detchmore  acquiesced,  and  they  walked  over 
to  where  Tom  stood.  On  their  way,  to  their  conster- 
nation, they  encountered  Willie  Ruston. 

"  Now  we're  in  for  it,"  breathed  Detchmore  in  low 
tones.  But  Ruston,  with  a  bow,  passed  on,  going 
straight  as  an  arrow  towards  where  Maggie  Dennison 
sat.  Lord  Detchmore  raised  his  eyebrows,  Adela  shut 
her  fan  with  a  click,  Tom  Loring,  when  they  reached 
him,  was  frowning.  Away  across  the  room  sat  Mar- 
jory alone. 

"  Good  heavens !  he  let  me  alone  !  "  exclaimed 
Lord  Detchmore. 

"  Perhaps  I  was  your  shield,"  said  Adela.  "  He 
doesn't  like  me." 

"  Nor  you,  Loring,  I  expect  ?  " 

Presently  Lord  Detchmore  moved  away,  leaving 
Adela  and  Tom  together.  They  had  been  together  a 
good  deal  lately,  and  their  tones  showed  the  intimacy 
of  friendship. 

"  That  man,"  said  Adela  quickly,  "  suspects  some- 
thing. He's  a  terrible  old  gossip,  although  he  is  a 
great  statesman,  of  course.  Can't  you  prevent  them 
talking  there  together?" 

"  No,"  said  Tom  composedly,  "  I  can't;  she'd  send 
me  away  if  I  went." 


A  TOAST  IN  CHAMPAGNE.  295 

"  Then  I  shall  go.     Why  isn't  Harry  here  ?  " 

"  Fie  wouldn't  come.  I've  been  dining  with  him 
at  the  club." 

"  He  ought  to  have  come." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  would  have  made  any  differ- 
ence." 

Adela  looked  at  him  for  a  moment ;  then  she 
walked  swiftly  across  the  room  to  Maggie  Dennison, 
aud  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Maggie,  I  haven't  had  a  talk  with  you  for  ever  so 
long.     How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Ruston  V  " 

Ruston  shook  hands  but  did  not  move.  He  stood 
silently  through  two  or  three  moments  of  Adela's 
forced  chatter.  Mrs.  Dennison  was  sitting  on  a  small 
couch,  which  would  just  hold  two  people ;  but  she  sat 
in  the  middle  of  it,  and  did  not  offer  to  make  room 
for  Adela.  When  Adela  paused  for  want  of  anything 
to  say,  there  was  silence.  She  looked  from  the  one  to 
the  other.  Ruston  smiled  the  smile  that  always 
exasperated  her  on  his  face— the  smile  of  possession 
she  called  it  in  an  attempt  at  definition. 

"  Look  at  Marjory  !  "  said  Mrs.  Dennison.  "  How 
solitary  she  looks!  Poor  girl!  Do  go  and  talk  to 
her,  Adela." 

"  I  came  to  talk  to  you,"  said  Adela,  in  fiery  tem- 
per. 

"  Well,  I'll  come  and  talk  to  you  both  directly," 
said  Maggie. 


296  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  We're  talking  business,"  added  Willie  Rnston, 
still  smiling. 

"  Oh,  if  you  don't  want  me !  "  cried  Adela,  and  she 
turned  away,  declaring  in  her  heart  that  she  had  made 
the  last  effort  of  friendship. 

With  her  going  went  Huston's  smile.  He  bent  his 
head,  and  said  in  a  low  voice, 

"  You  are  the  only  woman  whom  I  could  have  left 
like  that,  and  the  only  one  whom  I  could  have  found 
it  hard  to  leave.     Was  it  very  hard  for  you  ?  " 

"  It  was  just  the  truth  for  me,"  she  answered. 

"  Of  course  you  were  angry  and  hurt.  I  was  afraid 
you  would  be,"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  curious  smile. 

"But  then,"  he  continued,  "you  saw  how  I  was 
placed.  Do  you  think  I  didn't  surfer  in  going?  I've 
never  had  such  a  wrench  in  my  life.  Won't  you  for- 
give me,  Maggie?" 

"Forgive!  What's  the  use  of  talking  like  that? 
What's  the  use  of  my  'forgiving'  you  for  being  what 
you  arc  ?" 

"  You  talk  as  if  you'd  found  me  out  in  some- 
thing." 

She  turned  to  him,  saying  very  low, 

"And  haven't  vou  found  me  out,  too?  We  are 
face  to  face  now,  Willie." 

lie  did  not  fully  understand  her.  Half  in  justifi- 
cation, half  iu  apology,  he  said  doggedly, 


A  TOAST   IN   CHAMPAGNE.  2(J7 

"  I  simply  had  to  go." 

"  Yes,  you  simply  had  to  go.  There  was  the  rail- 
way.    Oh,  what's  the  use  of  talking  about  it?" 

"  I  was  afraid  you  meant  to  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  me." 

"  Or  you  wished  it?"  she  asked  quickly. 

He  started.  She  had  discerned  the  thoughts  that 
came  into  his  mind  in  his  solitary  walks. 

"  Don't  be  afraid.     I've  wished  it,"  she  added. 

There  was  a  pause ;  then  he,  not  denying  her 
charge,  whispered, 

"  I  can't  wish  it  now — not  when  I'm  with  you." 

"  To  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you  !  Ah, 
Willie,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  anything  but  you." 

A  swift  glance  from  him  told  her  that  her  appeal 
touched  him. 

"  What  else  is  left  me  ?  Can  I  live  as  I  am  liv- 
ing?" 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?  "  he  asked.  "  We  shall  see 
one  another  sometimes  now.  I  can't  come  to  your 
house,  you  know.     But  sometimes " 

"  At  a  party — here  and  there  !  And  the  rest  of  the 
time  I  must  live  at — at  home  !     Home  ! " 

He  bent  to  her,  wrhispering, 

"  We  must  arrange " 

"  No,  no,"  she  replied,  passionately.  "  Don't  you 
see  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  he  asked,  puzzled. 


298  THE   GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  understand  !  It's  not  that.  It's 
not  that  I  can't  live  without  you." 

"  I  never  said  that,"  he  interposed  quickly. 

"  And  yet  I  suppose  it  is  that.  But  it's  something 
more.     Willie,  I  can't  live  with  him." 

"  Does  he  suspect?"  he  asked  in  an  eager  whisper. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  really  don't  know.  It's  worse 
if  he  doesn't.  Oh,  if  you  knew  what  I  feel  when  he 
looks  at  me  and  asks " 

"Asks  what?" 

"  Nothing— nothing  in  words  ;  but,  Willie,  every- 
thing, everything.    I  shall  go  mad,  if  I  stay.    And  then 

don't  you  see ?"     She  stopped,  going  on  again  a 

moment  later.  "  I've  borne  it  till  I  could  see  you. 
But  I  can't  go  on  bearing  it." 

He  glanced  at  her. 

"  We  can't  talk  about  it  here,"  he  said.  "  Every- 
body will  see  how  agitated  you  are." 

For  answer  she  schooled  her  face  to  rigidity,  and 
her  hands  to  motionlessness. 

"  You  must  talk  about  it — here  and  now,"  she 
said.  "  It's  the  only  time  I've  seen  you  since— Dieppe. 
What  are  you  going  to  do,  Willie?" 

lie  looked  round.  Then,  with  a  smile,  he  offered 
his  arm. 

"  I  must  take  you  to  have  something,"  he  said. 
"  Come,  we  must  walk  through  the  room." 

She  rose  and  took  his  arm.     Bowing  and  smiling, 


A   TOAST  IN   CHAMPAGNE.  299 

she  turned  to  greet  her  acquaintances.  She  stopped 
to  speak  to  Lord  Detchmore,  and  exchanged  a  word 
with  her  host. 

"Yes.  What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked 
again,  aloud. 

They  had  reached  the  room  where  the  buffet  stood. 
Mrs.  Dennison,  after  a  few  words  to  Lady  Valentine, 
who  was  still  there,  sat  down  on  a  chair  a  little  remote 
from  the  crowd.  Ruston  brought  her  a  cup  of  coffee, 
and  stood  in  front  of  her,  with  the  half -conscious  in- 
tention of  shielding  her  from  notice.  She  drank  the 
coffee  hastily ;  its  heat  brought  a  slight  glow  to  her 
face. 

"  You're  going  as  you  planned  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  answered  in  low,  dry  tones,  emptied  of  all  emo- 
tion. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I'm  going." 

She  stretched  out  her  hand  towards  him  implor- 
ingly. 

"  Willie,  you  must  take  me  with  you,"  she  said. 

He  looked  down  with  startled  face. 

"  My  God,  Maggie  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  can't  stay  here.     I  can't  stay  with  him." 

Her  lips  quivered ;  he  took  her  cup  from  her  (he 
feared  that  she  would  let  it  fall),  and  set  it  on  the  ta- 
ble. Behind  them  he  heard  merry  voices;  Semiug- 
ham's  was  loud  among  them.  The  voices  were  coming 
near  them. 


300  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  I  must  think,"  he  whispered.  "  We  can't  talk 
now.     I  must  see  you  again." 

"Where?"  she  asked  helplessly. 

"  Carlin's.  Come  up  to-morrow.  I  can  arrange 
it.  For  heaven's  sake,  begin  to  talk  about  some- 
thing." 

She  looked  up  in  his  face. 

"  I  could  stand  here  and  tell  it  to  the  room,"  she 
said,  "  sooner  than  live  as  I  live  now." 

He  had  no  time  to  answer.  Semingham's  arm  was 
on  his  shoulder.     Lord  Detchmore  stood  by  his  side. 

"  I  want,"  said  Semingham,  "  to  introduce  Lord 
Detchmore  to  you,  Mrs.  Dennison.  It's  not  at  all  dis- 
interested of  me.  You  must  persuade  him  —  you 
know  what  about." 

"  No,  no,"  laughed  the  Minister,  "  I  mustn't  be 
talked  to;  it's  highly  improper,  and  I  distrust  my 
virtue." 

"  I'll  be  bound  now  that  you  were  talking  about 
Omofaga  this  very  minute,"  pursued  Semingham. 

"  Of  course  we  were,"  said  Huston. 

"  You're  a  great  enthusiast,  Mrs.  Dennison," 
smiled  Detchmore.  "  You  ought  to  go  out,  you 
know.  Can't  you  persuade  your  husband  to  lend  you 
to  the  expedition?" 

Huston  could  have  killed  the  man  for  his  mal- 
apropos jesting.  Maggie  Dennison  seemed  unable  to 
answer  it.     Semingham  broke  in  lightly, 


A   TOAST   IN   CHAMPAGNE.  301 

"  It  would  be  a  fine  chance  for  proving  the  qual- 
ity— and  the  equality — of  women,"  said  he.  "  I  al- 
ways told  Mrs.  Deanison  that  she  ought  to  be  Queen 
of  Omofaga." 

"  And  I  hope,"  said  Detchmore,  with  a  significant 
smile,  "  that  there'll  soon  be  a  railway  to  take  you 
there." 

Even  at  that  moment,  the  light  of  triumph  came 
suddenly  gleaming  into  Euston's  eyes.  He  looked  at 
Detchmore,  who  laughed  and  nodded. 

"  I  think  so.  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  manage 
it,"  he  said. 

"  That's  an  end  to  all  our  troubles,"  said  Seniing- 
ham.     "  Come,  we'll  drink  to  it." 

He  signed  to  a  waiter,  who  brought  champagne. 
Lord  Detchmore  gallantly  pressed  a  glass  on  Mrs. 
Dennison.     She  shook  her  head,  but  took  it. 

"  Long  life  to  Omofaga,  and  death  to  its  ene- 
mies ! "  cried  Semingham  in  burlesque  heroics,  and, 
with  a  laugh — that  was,  as  his  laughs  so  often  were, 
as  much  at  himself  as  at  the  rest  of  the  world — he 
made  a  mock  obeisance  to  Willie  Ruston,  adding, 
"  Moriamur  pro  rege  nostro!"  and  draining  the  glass. 

Maggie  Dennison's  eyes  sparkled.  Behind  the 
mockery  in  Semingham's  jest,  behind  the  only  half 
make-believe  homage  which  Detchmore's  humorous 
glance  at  Ruston  showed,  she  saw  the  reality  of  defer- 
ence, the  acknowledgment  of  power  in  the  man  she 
20 


302  THE   GOD   IN   TOE   CAR. 

loved.  For  a  brief  moment  she  tasted  the  troubled 
joy  which  she  had  paid  so  high  to  win.  For  a  mo- 
ment her  eyes  rested  on  Willie  Huston  as  a  woman's 
eyes  rest  on  a  man  who  is  the  world's  as  well  as  hers, 
but  also  hers  as  he  is  not  the  world's.  She  sipped  the 
champagne,  echoing  in  her  low  rich  voice,  so  that  the 
men  but  just  caught  the  words,  "  Moriamur  pro  rege 
nostro"  and  gave  the  glass  into  Ruston's  hand. 

A  sudden  seriousness  fell  upon  them.  Detchmore 
glanced  at  Semingham,  and  thence,  curiously,  at  Wil- 
lie Euston,  whose  face  was  pale  and  marked  with  a 
deep-lined  frown.  Mrs.  Dennison  had  sunk  back  in 
her  chair,  and  her  heart  rose  and  fell  in  agitated 
breathings.  Then  Willie  Huston  spoke  in  cool  delib- 
erate tones. 

"  The  King  there  was  a  Queen,"  he  said.  "  You've 
drunk  to  the  wrong  person,  Semingham.  I'll  drink  it 
right,"  and,  bowing  to  Maggie  Dennison,  he  drained 
his  glass.  Looking  up,  he  found  Detchmore's  eyes  on 
him  in  overpowering  wonder. 

"  If  I  tell  you  a  story,  Lord  Detchmore,"  said  he, 
"you'll  understand,"  and,  yielding  his  place  by  Mag- 
gie Dennison,  he  took  Detchmore  with  him,  and  they 
walked  away  in  talk. 

It  was  an  hour  later  when  Lord  Detchmore  took 
leave  of  his  host. 

"Well,  did  you  hear  the  story?"  asked  Seming- 
ham. 


A   TOAST  IN  CHAMPAGNE.  :;,,;; 

"  Yes  ;  I  heard  it,"  said  Detchmore,  "  about  the 
telegram,  wasn't  it?" 

kk  Ves,  and  of  course,  you  see,  it  explains  the 
toast." 

"  That  sounds  like  a  question,  Semingham." 

"  Oh,  no.  The  note  of  interrogation  was — a  prin- 
ter's error." 

"  It's  a  remarkable  story." 

"  It  really  is,"  said  Semingham. 

"  And — is  it  the  whole  story  ?  " 

"  Well,  isn't  it  enough  to  justify  the  toast?" 

"  It — and  she — are  enough,"  said  Detchmore. 
"  But,  Semingham " 

Lord  Semingham,  however,  took  him  by  the  arm, 
walked  him  into  the  hall,  got  his  hat  and  coat  for 
him,  helped  him  on  with  them,  and  wished  him  good- 
night. Detchmore  submitted  without  resistance.  Just 
at  the  last,  however,  as  he  fitted  his  hat  on  his  head, 
he  said, 

"  You're  unusually  explicit,  Semingham.  He  goes 
to  Omofaga  soon,  don't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  God,"  said  Semingham,  almost  cheer- 
fully. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

THE    CUTTING    OF   THE    KNOT. 

"  You  can  manage  it  for  me  ?  "  asked  Willie  Rus- 
ton. 

"  I  suppose  I  can,"  answered  Carlin  ;  "  but  it's 
rather  queer,  isn't  it,  Willie  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it's  queer  or  not ;  but  I 
must  talk  to  her  for  half-an-hour." 

"  Why  not  at  Curzon  Street  ?  " 

Ruston  laughed  a  short  little  laugh. 

"  Do  you  really  want  the  reason  stated  ?  "  he  in- 
quired. 

Carlin  shook  his  head  gloomily,  but  he  attempted 
no  remonstrance.     He  confined  himself  to  saying, 

"  I  hope  the  deuce  you're  not  getting  yourself  into 
a  mess ! " 

"  She'll  be  here  about  five.  You  must  be  here, 
you  know,  and  you  must  leave  me  with  her.  Look 
here,  Carlin,  I  only  want  a  word  with  her." 

"  But  my  wife " 

"  Send  your  wife  somewhere — to  the  theatre  with 

(804) 


THE  CUTTING  OF   THE  KNOT.  305 

the  children,  or  somewhere.  Mind  you're  here  to 
receive  her." 

He  issued  his  orders  and  walked  away.  He  hated 
making  arrangements  of  this  sort,  but  there  was  (he 
told  himself)  no  help  for  it.  Anything  was  better 
than  talking  to  Maggie  Dennison  before  the  world  in 
a  drawing-room.  And  it  was  for  the  last  time.  Ee- 
moved  from  her  presence,  he  felt  clear  about  that. 
The  knot  must  be  cut ;  the  thing  must  be  finished. 
His  approaching  departure  made  a  natural  and  inevit- 
able end  to  it ;  and  her  mad  suggestion  of  coming  with 
him  shewed  in  its  real  enormity  as  he  mused  on  it  in 
his  solitary  thoughts.  For  a  moment  she  had  carried 
him  away.  The  picture  of  her  pale  eloquent  face,  and 
the  gleam  of  her  eager  eyes  had  almost  led  him  to 
self -betrayal ;  the  idea  of  her  in  such  a  mood  beside 
him  in  his  work  and  his  triumphs  had  seemed  for  the 
moment  irresistible.  She  could  double  his  strength 
and  make  joy  of  his  toil.  But  it  could  not  be  so  ;  and 
for  it  to  be  so,  if  it  could  be,  he  must  stand  revealed 
as  a  traitor  to  his  friend,  and  be  banned  for  an  outlaw 
by  his  acquaintance.  He  had  been  a  traitor,  of 
course,  but  he  need  not  persist.  They — she  and  he — 
must  not  stereotype  a  passing  madness,  nor  refuse  the 
rescue  chance  had  given  them.  There  was  time  to 
draw  back,  to  set  matters  right  again — at  least,  to 
trammel  up  the  consequence  of  wrong. 

When  she  came,  and  Carlin,  frowning  perplexedly, 


306  THE   GOD   IN   THE  CAR. 

had,  with  awkward  excuses,  taken  himself  away,  he 
said  all  this  to  her  in  stumbling  speech.  From  the 
exaltation  of  the  evening  before  they  fell  pitiably. 
They  had  soared  then  in  vaulting  imagination  over 
the  bristling  barriers  ;  to-day  they  could  rise  to  no 
such  height.  Reality  pressed  hard  upon  them,  crush- 
ing their  romance  into  crime,  their  passion  to  the  vul- 
garity of  an  everyday  intrigue.  This  secret  backstairs 
meeting  seemed  to  stamp  all  that  passed  at  it  with  its 
own  degrading  sign ;  their  high-wrought  defiance  of 
the  world  and  the  right  dwindled  before  their  eyes  to 
a  mean  and  sly  evasiveness.  So  felt  Willie  Ruston  ; 
and  Maggie  Dennison  sat  silent  while  he  painted  for 
her  what  he  felt.  She  did  not  interrupt  him ;  now 
and  again  a  shiver  or  a  quick  motion  shewed  that  she 
heard  him.  At  last  he  had  said  his  say,  and  stood, 
leaning  against  the  mantelpiece,  looking  down  on  her. 
Then,  without  glancing  up,  she  asked, 

"And  what's  to  become  of  me,  Willie?" 

The  sudden  simple  question  revealed  him  to  him- 
self. Put  in  plain  English,  his  rigmarole  meant, 
"  Go  your  way  and  I'll  go  mine."  What  he  had  said 
might  be  right — might  be  best — might  be  duty — might 
be  religion — might  be  anything  you  would.  But  a 
man  may  forfeit  the  right  to  do  right. 

"  Of  you  ?  "  he  stammered. 

"  I  can't  live  as  I  am,"  she  said. 

lie  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room.     She 


THE  CUTTING  OP  THE    KNOT.  307 

sat  almost  listlessly  in  her  chair.  There  was  an  air  of 
helplessness  about  her.  But  she  was  slowly  thinking 
over  what  he  had  said  and  realising  its  purport. 

"  You  mean  we're  never  to  meet  again  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Not  that ! "  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  heat  that 
amazed  himself.     V  Not  that,  Maggie.     Why  that  ?  " 

"  Why  that  ?  "  she  repeated  in  wondering  tones. 
"  What  else  do  you  mean  ?  You  don't  mean  we 
should  go  on  like  this  ?  " 

He  did  not  dare  to  answer  either  way.  The  one 
was  now  impossible — had  swiftly,  as  he  looked  at  her, 
come  to  seem  impossible ;  the  other  was  to  treat  her 
as  not  even  he  could  treat  her.  She  was  not  of  the 
stuff  to  live  a  life  like  that. 

There  was  silence  while  he  waged  with  himself 
that  strange  preposterous  struggle,  where  evil  seemed 
good,  and  good  a  treachery  not  to  be  committed  ; 
wherein  his  brain  seemed  to  invite  to  meanness,  and 
his  passion,  for  once,  to  point  the  better  way. 

"  I  wish  to  God  we  had  never "  he  began  ;  but 

her  despairing  eyes  stifled  the  feeble  useless  sentence 
■m  his  lips. 

At  last  he  came  near  to  her ;  the  lines  were  deep 
on  his  forehead,  and  his  mouth  quivered  under  a 
forced  smile.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  She 
looked  up  questioningly. 

"  You  know  what  you're  asking  ?  "  he  said. 


308  THE   GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

She  nodded  her  head. 

"  Then  so  be  it,"  said  he  ;  and  he  went  again  and 
leant  against  the  mantelpiece. 

He  felt  that  he  had  paid  a  debt  with  his  life,  but 
knew  not  whether  the  payment  were  too  high. 

It  seemed  to  him  long  before  she  spoke — long 
enough  for  him  to  repeat  again  to  himself  what  he 
had  done — how  that  he,  of  all  men,  had  made  a  bur- 
den that  would  break  his  shoulders,  and  had  fettered 
his  limbs  for  all  his  life's  race — yet  to  be  glad,  too, 
that  he  had  not  shrunk  from  carrying  what  he  had 
made,  and  had  escaped  coupling  the  craven  with  his 
other  part. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked  at  last;  and 
there  was  surprise  in  her  tone. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  he  answered.  "  We'll 
go  through  with  it  together." 

Though  he  was  giving  what  she  asked,  she  seemed 
hardly  to  understand. 

"  I  can't  let  you  go,"  he  said ;  "and  I  suppose  you 
can't  let  me  go." 

"But— but  what'll  happen?" 

"  God  knows,"  said  he.  "  We  shall  be  a  long  way. 
off,  anyhow." 

"In  Omofaga,  Willie?" 

"  Yes." 

After  a  pause  she  rose  and  moved  a  step  towards 
him. 


THE  CUTTING  OP  THE  KNOT.      309 

"  Why  are  you  doing  it?"  she  asked,  searching  his 
eyes  with  hers.  "  Is  it  just  because  I  ask  ?  Because 
you're  sorry  for  me  ?  " 

She  was  standing  near  him,  and  he  looked  on  her 
face.     Then  he  sprang  forward,  catching  her  hands. 

"  It's  because*  you're  more  to  me  than  I  ever 
thought  any  woman  could  be." 

She  let  her  hands  lie  in  his. 

"  But  you  came  here,"  she  said,  "  meaning  to  send 
me  away." 

"  I  was  a  fool,"  he  said,  grimly,  between  his  teeth. 

She  drew  her  hands  away,  and  then  whispered, 

"  And,  Willie— Harry  ?  " 

Again  he  had  nothing  to  answer.  She  stood  look- 
ing at  him  with  a  wistful  longing  for  a  word  of  com- 
fort. He  gave  none.  She  passed  her  hand  across  her 
eyes,  and  burst  into  sudden  sobs. 

"  How  miserable  I  am  !  "  she  sobbed.  "  I  wish  I 
was  dead  ! " 

He  made  as  though  to  take  her  hand  again,  but 
she  shrank,  and  he  fell  back.  With  one  hand  over 
her  eyes,  she  felt  her  way  back  to  her  chair. 

For  five  minutes  or  more  she  sat  crying.  Ruston 
did  not  move.  He  had  nothing  wherewith  to  console 
her,  and  he  dared  not  touch  her.    Then  she  looked  up. 

"  If  I  were  dead  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Hush !  hush  !  You'd  break  my  heart,"  he  an- 
swered in  low  tones. 


310  THE  GOD   IX   THE  CAR. 

In  the  midst  of  her  weeping,  for  an  instant  she 
smiled. 

"  Ah,  Willie,  Willie  ! "  she  said  ;  and  he  knew  that 
she  read  him  through  and  through,  so  that  he  was 
ashamed  to  protest  again. 

She  did  not  believe  in  that  from  him. 

Presently  her  sobs  ceased,  and  she  crushed  her 
handkerchief  into  a  ball  in  her  hand. 

"  Well,  Maggie  ?  "  said  lie  in  hard  even  tones. 

She  rose  again  to  her  feet  and  came  to  him. 

"  Kiss  me,  Willie,"  she  said ;  "  I'm  going  back 
home." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  She 
released  herself,  and  gazed  long  in  his  face. 

"Why?"  he  asked.  "You  can't  bear  it;  you 
know  you  can't.  Come  with  me,  Maggie.  I  don't 
understand  you." 

"  No  ;  I  don't  understand  myself.  I  came  here 
meaning  to  go  with  you.  I  came  here  thinking  I 
could  never  bear  to  go  back.  Ah,  you  don't  know 
what  it  is  to  live  there  now.  But  I  must  go  back. 
Ah,  how  I  hate  it ! " 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Think— if  I  came  with  you  !     Think,  Willie !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  as  though  it  had  been  wrung  from 
him,  "  I  know,  lint  come  all  the  same,  Maggie,"  and 
with  a  sudden  gust  of  passion  he  began  to  beseech 
her,  declaring  that  he  could  not  live  without  her. 


THE  CUTTING   OF   THE    KNOT.  31 1 

"No,  no,"  she  cried;  "it's  not  true,  Willie,  or 
you're  not  the  man  I  loved.  Go  on,  dear  ;  go  on.  I 
shall  hear  about  you.     I  shall  watch  you." 

"But  you'll  be  here — with  him,"  he  muttered  in 
grim  anger. 

"  Ah,  Willie,  are  you  still — still  jealous  ?  Even 
now  ?  " 

A  silence,  fell  between  them. 

"  You  shall  come,"  he  said  at  last.  "  What  do  I 
care  for  him  or  the  rest  of  them  ?  I  care  for  nothing 
but  you." 

"  I  will  not  come,  Willie.  I  dare  not  come.  Wil- 
lie, in  a  week — in  a  day — Willie,  my  dear,  in  an  hour 
you  will  be  glad  that  I  would  not  come." 

As  she  spoke,  her  voice  grew  louder.  The  words 
sounded  like  a  sentence  on  him. 

"Is  that  why?"  he  asked,  regarding  her  with 
moody  eyes. 

She  hesitated  before  she  answered,  in  bewildered 
despair. 

"  Yes.  I  don't  know.  In  part  it  is.  And  I 
daren't  think  of  Harry.  Let  me  think,  Willie,  that 
it's  a  little  bit  because  of  Harry  and  the  children.  I 
know  I  can't  expect  you  to  believe  it,  but  it  is  a  little, 
though  it's  more  because  of  you." 

"  Of  me  ? — for  my  sake,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  altogether  for  your  sake ;  because  of 
you." 


312  TI1E   GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

"  And,  Maggie,  if  he  suspects  ?  " 

"  He  won't  suspect,"  she  said.     "  He  would  take 
my  word  against  the  world." 

"  They  suspect — some  of  them — that  woman  Mrs. 
Cormack.     A nd — does  Marjory  ?  " 

"  It  is  nothing.  He  won't  believe.  Marjory  will 
not  say  a  word." 

"  You'll  persuade  him  that  there  was  noth- 
ing  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I'll  persuade  him,"  she  answered. 

She  began  to  pull  a  glove  on  to  her  hand. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said.  "  It's  nearly  an  hour  since 
I  came." 

lie  took  a  step  towards  her. 

"  You  won't  come,  Maggie  ?  "  he  urged,  and  there 
was  still  eagerness  in  his  voice. 

"  Not  again,  Willie.  I  can't  stand  it  again.  Good- 
bye. I've  given  you  everything,  Willie.  And  you'll 
think  of  me  now  and  then  ?  " 

He  was  unmanned.  He  could  not  answer  her,  but 
turned  towards  the  wall  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hand. 

"  I  shan't  think  of  you  like  that,"  she  said,  a  note 
of  wondering  reproach  in  her  voice.  "  I  shall  think 
of  you  conquering.  I  like  the  hard  look  that  they 
blame  you  for..  Well,  you'll  have  it  soon  again, 
Willie." 

She  moved  towards  the  door.     He  did  not  turn. 


THE   CUTTING   OF   THE   KNOT.  313 

She  waited  an  instant  looking  at  him.  A  smile  was 
on  her  lips,  and  a  tear  trickled  down  her  cheeks. 

"  It's  like  shutting  the  door  on  life,  Willie,"  she 
said. 

He  sprang  forward,  but  she  raised  her  hand  to  stay 
him. 

"  No.  It  is— settled,"  said  she ;  and  she  opened 
the  door  of  the  room  and  walked  out  into  the  little 
entrance-hall. 

It  was  a  wet  evening,  and  the  rain  pattered  on  the 
roof  of  the  projecting  porch.  They  stood  there  a  mo- 
ment, till  her  cabman,  who  had  taken  refuge  in  the 
lee  of  the  garden  wall,  brought  his  vehicle  up  to  the 
door.  They  heard  a  step  creak  behind  them  in  the 
hall,  and  then  recede.  Carlin  was  treading  on  tip-toe 
away. 

Maggie  Dennison  put  out  her  hand  and  met  Rus- 
ton's.  She  pressed  his  hand  with  strength  more  than 
her  own,  and  she  said,  very  low, 

"  I  am  dying  now — this  way — for  my  king,  Willie," 
and  she  stepped  out  into  the  rain,  and  climbed  into 
the  cab. 

"  Back  to  where  you  brought  me  from,"  she  called 
to  the  man,  and  leaning  forward,  where  the  cab  lamps 
caught  her  face,  so  that  it  gleamed  like  the  face  of 
some  marble  statue,  she  looked  on  Willie  Ruston.  Her 
lips  moved,  but  he  heard  no  word.  The  wheels  turned 
and  the  lamps  flashed,  and  she  was  carried  away. 


3L4  TIIE  G0I)  IN  TIIE  CAR- 

Willie  started  forward  a  step  or  two,  then  ran  to 
the  gate  and,  leaning  on  it,  watched  the  red  lights  as 
they  fled  away;  and  long  after  they  were  gone,  he 
stood  there,  bareheaded,  in  the  drenching  rain.  He 
did  not  think ;  he  still  saw  her,  still  heard  her  voice, 
and  watched  her  broad  low  brow.  She  still  stood  be- 
fore him,  not  the  fairest  of  women,  but  the  woman 
who  was  for  him.  And  the  rumble  of  retreating 
wheels  sounded  again  in  his  ears.     She  was  gone. 

How  long  he  stood  he  did  not  know.  Presently 
he  felt  an  arm  passed  through  his,  and  he  was  led 
back  to  the  house. 

Old  Carlin  took  him  through  the  hall  into  bis  own 
little  study,  where  a  bright  fire  blazed,  and  gave  him 
brandy,  which  he  drank,  and  helped  him  off  with  his 
wet  coat,  and  put  a  cricketing  jacket  on  him,  and 
pushed  him  into  an  arm-chair,  and  hunted  for  a  pair 
of  slippers  for  him. 

All  this  while  neither  spoke  ;  and  at  last  Carlin,  his 
tasks  done,  stood  and  warmed  himself  at  the  fire,  look- 
ing steadily  in  front  of  him,  and  never  at  his  friend. 

"  You  dear  old  fool,"  said  Willie  Ruston. 

"Ah,  well,  well,  you  mustn't  take  cold.  If  you 
were  laid  up  now,  what  the  deuce  would  become  of 
Omofaga  ?  " 

His  small,  sharp,  shrewd  eyes  blinked  as  he  spoke, 
and  he  glanced  at  Willie  Huston  as  he  named 
Omofaga. 


THE   CUTTING  OP   THE    KNOT.  :;i;, 

Willie  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  oath. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cried,  "  why  do  you  do  this  for 
me  ?     Who'll  do  anything  for  her  ?  " 

Carlin  blinked  again,  keeping  his  gaze  aloof. 
Then  he  held  out  his  hand,  and  Willie  seized  it, 
saying, 

"  I'm — I'm  precious  hard  hit,  old  man." 

The  other  nodded  and,  as  Willie  sank  back  in  his 
chair,  stole  quietly  out  of  the  room,  shutting  the  door 
close  behind  him. 

Willie  Kuston  drew  his  chair  nearer  the  fire,  and 
spread  out  his  hands  to  the  blaze.  And  as  the  heat 
warmed  his  frame,  the  stupor  of  his  mind  passed,  and 
he  saw  some  of  what  was  true — a  glimpse  of  his  naked 
self  thrown  up  against  the  light  of  the  love  that  others 
found  for  him.  And  he  turned  away  his  eyes,  for  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  could  not  look  long  and  endure 
to  live.  And  he  groaned  that  he  had  won  love  and 
made  for  himself  so  mightv  an  accuser  of  debts  that 
it  lay  not  in  him  to  pay.  For  even  then,  while  he 
cursed  himself,  and  cursed  the  nature  that  would  not 
be  changed  in  him ;  even  while  the  words  of  his  love 
were  in  his  ears,  and  her  presence  near  with  him  ;  even 
while  life  seemed  naught  for  the  emptiness  her  going 
made,  and  himself  nothing  but  longing  for  her ;  even 
then,  behind  regret,  behind  remorse,  behind  agony, 
behind  self-contempt  and  self-disgust,  lay  hidden,  and 
deeper  hidden  as  he  thrust  it  down,  the  knowledge 


316  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

that  he  was  glad — glad  that  his  life  was  his  own 
again,  to  lead  and  make  and  shape ;  wherein  to  take 
and  hold,  to  play  and  win,  to  fasten  on  what  was  his, 
and  to  beat  down  his  enemies  before  his  face.  That 
no  man  could  rob  him  of,  and  the  woman  who  could 
would  not.  So,  as  Maggie  Dennison  had  said,  in  the 
passing  of  an  hour  he  was  glad  ;  and  in  the  passing  of 
a  week  he  had  learnt  to  look  in  the  face  of  the  glad- 
ness which  he  had  and  loathed. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    RETURN   OF    A    FRIEND. 

About  a  week  later,  Tom  Loring  sat  at  work  in 
his  rooms.  The  table  was  strewn  with  books  of  blue 
and  of  less  alarming  colours.  Tom  was  smoking  a 
short  pipe,  and  when  he  paused  for  a  fresh  idea,  the 
smoke  welled  out  of  his  mouth,  aye,  and  out  of  his 
nose,  thick  and  fast.  For  a  while  he  wrote  busily  ; 
then  a  dash  of  his  pen  proclaimed  a  finished  task,  and 
he  lay  back  in  the  luxury  of  accomplishment.  Pres- 
ently he  pushed  back  his  chair,  knocked  out  his  pipe, 
refilled  it,  and  stretched  himself  on  the  sofa.  After 
the  day's  work  came  the  day's  dream ;  and  the  day's 
dream  dwelt  on  the  coming  of  the  evening  hour,  when 
Tom  was  to  take  tea  with  Adela  Ferrars  at  half-past 
five.  When  he  had  an  appointment  like  that,  it 
coloured  his  whole  day,  and  made  his  hard  labour 
pass  lightly.  Also  it  helped  him  to  forget  what  there 
was  in  his  own  life  and  his  friends'  to  trouble  him ; 
and  he  nursed  with  quiet  patience  a  love  that  did  not 
expect,  that  hardly  hoped  for,  any  issue.     As  he  had 

21  (317) 


318  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

been  content  to  be  Harry  Dennison's  secretary,  so 
he  seemed  satisfied  to  be  an  undeclared  lover;  finding 
enough  for  his  modesty  in  what  most  men  would  have 
felt  only  a  spur  to  urge  them  to  press  further. 

He  was  roused  by  a  step  on  the  stair.  A  moment 
later,  Harry  Dennison  burst  into  the  room.  Tom  had 
seen  him  a  few  days  before,  uneasy,  troubled,  apolo- 
getic, talking  of  Maggie's  strange  indisposition — she 
was  terribly  out  of  sorts,  he  had  said,  and  appeared  to 
find  all  company  and  all  talk  irksome.  He  had  spoken 
with  a  meek  compassion  that  exasperated  Tom — an 
unconsciousness  of  any  hardship  laid  on  him.  Tom 
sat  up,  glad  to  console  him  for  an  hour ;  glad,  per- 
haps, of  any  company  that  would  trick  an  hour  into 
the  past.  But  to-day  Harry's  step  was  light;  there 
was  a  smile  on  his  lips,  a  gleam  of  hope  in  his  eyes ; 
he  rushed  to  Tom,  seized  his  hand,  and,  before  he  sat 
down  or  took  off  his  hat,  blurted  out, 

"  Tom,  old  boy,  she  wants  you  to  come  back." 

Tom  started. 

"  What  ?"  he  cried,  "  Mrs.  Dennison  wants " 

"  Yes,"  Harry  went  on,  "  she  sent  for  me  to-day, 
and  told  me  that  she  saw  how  I  missed  you,  and  that 
she  was  sorry  that  she  had — well — sorry  for  all  the 
trouble,  you  know.  Then  she  said,  '  I  wonder  if  Tom 
(she  called  you  Tom)  bears  malice.  Tell  him  Omo- 
faga  is  quite  gone,  and  I  want  him  to  come  back,  and 
if  he'll  come  here,  I'll  go  on  my  knees  to  him.' " 


THE   RETURN  OF  A    FRIEND.  319 

Harry  stopped,  smiling  joyfully  at  his  wonderful 
news.     Tom  wore  a  doubtful  look. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  said  Harry,  "  what  it  means  to 
me.  It's  not  only  your  coming,  old  chap,  though, 
heaven  knows,  I'm  gladder  of  that  than  I've  been  of 
anything  for  months — but  you  see  what  it  means, 
Tom  ?  It  means — why,  it  means  that  we're  to  be  as 
we  were  before  that  fellow  came.  Tom,  she  spoke  to 
me  more  as  she  used  to-day." 

His  voice  faltered ;  he  spoke  as  an  innocent  loyal 
man  might  of  a  pardon  from  some  loved  capricious 
Sovereign.  He  had  not  understood  the  disfavour — he 
had  dimly  discerned  inexplicable  anger.  Now  it  was 
past,  and  the  sun  shone  again.  Tom  found  himself 
saying, 

"  I  wish  there  were  more  fellows  in  the  world  like 
you,  Harry." 

Harry's  eyes  opened  in  momentary  astonishment  at 
the  irrelevance,  but  he  was  too  full  of  his  news  and 
his  request  to  stay  for  wonder. 

"  You'll  come,  Tom  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  won't  re- 
fuse her  ?  "  "  Could  any  one  refuse  her  anything  ?  " 
was  what  his  tone  said.  "  We  want  you,  Tom,"  he  went 
on.  "Hang  it,  I've  had  no  one  to  speak  to  lately  but 
that  Cormack  woman.  I  hate  that  woman.  She's  al- 
ways hinting  something — some  lie  or  other,  you  know." 

"  Don't  be  too  hard  on  little  Mrs.  Cormack,"  said 
Tom. 


320  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

He  remembered  certain  words  which  had  shown  a 
soft  spot  in  Mrs.  Cormack's  heart.  Harry  did  not 
know  that  she  had  grieved  to  hear  him  pacing  up  and 
down. 

"You'll  come,  Tom?  I  know,  of  course,  that 
you've  a  right  to  be  angry,  and  to  say  you  won't,  and 
all  that.  But  I  know  you  won't  do  it.  She's  not 
well,  Tom  ;  and  I — I  can't  always  understand  her. 
You  used  to  understand  her,  Tom.  She  used  to  like 
your  chaff,  you  know." 

Tom  would  not  enter  on  that.  He  pressed  Harry's 
hand,  answering, 

"  Of  course,  I'll  come." 

"  Bring  all  this  with  you,"  cried  Harry.  "  I  shan't 
take  up  your  time.  You  must  stick  to  your  own  work 
as  much  as  you  like.     When'll  you  come,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Why,  to-morrow,"  said  Tom  Loring. 

"Not  now?" 

"  I  might,  if  you  like,"  smiled  Tom. 

"  That's  right,  old  chap.  You  can  send  round  for 
your  things.  Bring  a  bag,  and  come  to-night.  Your 
room's  there  for  you.  I  told  them  to  keep  it  ready. 
Damn  it,  Tom,  I  thought  things  would  come  straight 
some  day,  and  I  kept  it  ready." 

Had  things  come  straight?     Tom  did  not  know. 

"  I  say,"  pursued  Harry,  "  I  met  Euston  to-day. 
He  was  very  kind  about  my  cutting  the  Omofaga.  I 
wonder  if  I've  been  unjust  to  him  !  " 


THE   RETURN    OF   A    FRIEND.  321 

Then  Tom  smiled. 

"  I  shouldn't  bother  about  that,  if  I  were  you," 
said  he. 

"  Well,  he's  not  a  thin-skinned  chap,  is  he  ?  "  asked 
Harry,  with  relief. 

"  I  should  fancy  not,"  said  Tom. 

"  You  see,  he's  off  in  a  fortnight,  and  I  thought 
we  ought  to  part  friends.  80  I  told  him — well,  I  said, 
you  know,  that  when  he  came  back,  we  should  be  glad 
to  see  him." 

Tom  began  to  laugh. 

"You're  getting  quite  a  diplomatist,  Harry,"  he 
said. 

When  Harry  bustled  away,  his  high  spirits  raised 
higher  still  by  Tom's  ready  assent,  Tom  put  on  the 
garb  of  society,  and  took  a  cab  to  Adela  Ferrars'. 

"  She'll  be  very  pleased  about  this,"  thought  Tom, 
as  he  went  along.     "  It's  good  news  to  take  her." 

But  whatever  else  Tom  Loring  knew,  it  is  certain 

that  he  was  not  infallible  on  the  subject  of  women 

and  their  feelings.     He  recognised  the  fact  (having 

indeed  suspected  it  many  times  before)  when  Adela, 

'  on  the  telling  of  his  tidings,  flashed  out  in  petulance, 

"  She's  sent  for  you  back  ?  "  she  asked  ;  and  Tom 
nodded. 

"And  you're  going?"  was  the  next  quick  ques- 
tion. 

"  Well,  I  could  hardly  refuse,  could  I  ?  " 


322  THE   GOD   IN    THE   CAR. 

"  No  ;  I  suppose  not — at  least  not  if  you're  Mag- 
gie Dennison's  dog,  for  her  to  drive  away  with  a  stick 
and  whistle  back  at  her  pleasure." 

Tom  had  been  drinking  tea.  He  set  down  the 
cup,  and  feebly  stroked  his  thigh  with  his  hand  ;  and 
he  glanced  at  Adela  (who  was  rattling  the  tea  things) 
with  deprecatory  surprise. 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  like  that,"  he  ventured  to 
remark. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  you  hadn't.  Maggie  sends  you 
away — you  go.  Maggie  sends  a  footman  (well,  then, 
Harry)  for  you — and  back  you  go.  And  I  suppose 
you'll  say  you're  very  sorry,  won't  you  ?  and  you'll 
promise  you  won't  do  it  again,  won't  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  be  asked  to  do  that,"  said 
Tom,  speaking  seriously,  but  showing  a  slight  offence 
in  his  manner. 

"But  if  she  tells  you  to?"  asked  Adela  scorn- 
fully. 

"  I  didn't  think  you'd  take  it  like  this.  Why 
shouldn't  I  go  back?" 

"  Oh,  go  back  !  Go  back  and  fetch  and  carry  for 
Maggie,  and  write  Harry's  speeches  till  the  end  of  the 
chapter.     Oh,  yes,  go  back." 

Tom  was  puzzled. 

"  Has  anything  upset  yon  to-day?"  he  asked. 

"  Has  anything  upset  me  !  "  echoed  Adela,  throw- 
ing her  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling. 


THE   RETURN   OP   A    FRIEND.  323 

Tom  finished  his  tea  in  a  nervous  gulp. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  go  back,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  I'm  telling  you  to  go  back,"  said  Adela. 
"Go  back  till  she's  had  enough  of  you  again— and 
then  be  turned  out  again." 

Tom's  face  grew  crimson. 

"  At  least,"  he  said  slowly,  "  she  has  never  spoken 
to  me  like  that." 

Adela  had  left  the  table  and  taken  an  arm-chair 
near  the  fire.  Her  back  was  to  the  door  and  her  face 
towards  Tom ;  she  held  a  fire-screen  between  her  and 
him,  letting  the  blaze  burn  her  face.  But  Tom,  being 
unobservant,  paid  no  attention  to  the  position  of  the 
fire-screen.  With  a  look  of  pain  on  his  face,  he  took 
up  his  hat  and  rose  to  his  feet.  The  meeting  had 
been  very  different  from  what  he  had  hoped. 

"  When  do  you  go  ?  "  she  asked  brusquely. 

"  To-night.  I'm  just  going  back  to  my  rooms  for 
a  bag,  and  then  I  shall  go.  I'm  sorry  you  should — 
I'm  sorry  you  don't  think  I'm  doing  right." 

"  It  doesn't  matter  two  straws  what  I  think,"  said 
Adela  behind  the  screen. 

"  Aye,  but  it  does  to  me,"  said  Tom. 

She  made  no  answer,  and  he  stood  for  a  moment, 
looking  uneasily  at  the  intruding  fire-screen. 

"  Well,  good-bye,"  he  said. 

"  Good-bye." 

"  I  shall  see  you  soon,  I  hope." 


324-  THE   GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

"  If  Maggie  will  let  you  come." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Tom,  "  what  pleasure  you 
find  in  that.  It  seems  to  me  that  as  a  gentleman — to 
say  nothing  of  my  being  their  friend — I  must  go  back." 

She  made  no  retort  to  this,  and  he  moved  a  step 
towards  the  door.  Then  he  turned  and  glanced  at 
her.  She  had  dropped  the  screen  and  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  fire.  He  sighed,  frowned,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  turned,  and  made  for  the  door  again.  In 
another  second  he  would  have  been  gone,  but  Adela 
cried  softly, 

."Mr.  Loring." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  coming  to  a  halt. 

"  Stay  where  you  are  a  minute.  Will  you  stay 
there  a  minute?" 

"  An  hour  if  you  like,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  just  want  to  say  that — that — You're  coming 
nearer! — I  want  you  to  stay  just  where  you  are." 

Tom  halted.  He  had,  in  fact,  been  coming  slowly 
towards  her. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Adela,  in  quite  an  indifferent 
tone,  "  that  you'll  settle  down  with  the  Dennisons 
again?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Yes  ;  I  suppose  so." 

"  Do  you,"  said  Adela,  sinking  far  into  the  re- 
cesses of  the  arm-chair,  and  holding  up  the  screen 
again,  "like  being  there  better  than  anywhere  else? 
I  suppose  Maggie  is  very  charming?" 


THE   RETURN   OF   A   FRIEND.  325 

"  You  know  just  what  she  is." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't.     I'm  a  woman." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Tom  felt  absurd,  stand- 
ing there  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Suddenly  Adela 
leapt  to  her  feet. 

"  Oh,  go  away !  Yes,  you're  right  to  go  back.  Oh, 
yes,  you're  quite  right.     Good-bye,  Mr.  Loring." 

For  a  moment  longer  Tom  stood  still;  then  he 
moved,  not  towards  the  door,  but  towards  Adela. 
When  he  spoke  to  her  it  was  in  a  husky  voice.  There 
were  no  sweet  seducing  tones  in  his  voice. 

"  There's  only  one  place  in  the  world  I  really  care 
to  be,"  he  said. 

She  did  not  speak. 

"  Harry  and  Mrs.  Dennison  are  my  friends,"  he 
said,  "  and  as  long  as  my  time's  my  own,  I'll  give  it 
to  them.  But  you  don't  suppose  I  go  there  for  happi- 
ness?" 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  ever  did  anything  for  happi- 
ness," said  Adela,  as  though  she  were  advancing  a 
heinous  charge.  "  Really,  nothing  makes  me  so  im- 
patient as  an  unselfish  man." 

Tom  smiled,  but  his  smile  was  still  a  nervous  one. 
Nevertheless  he  felt  less  absurd.  A  distant  presage  of 
triumph  stole  into  his  mind. 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  go  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  may  go  wherever  you  like,"  said  she. 

Tom  came  still  nearer.     Adela  held  out  her  hand 


326  THE  GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

and  said  "  good-bye."  Tom  took  the  hand  and 
held  it. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  I  didn't  think  I  had  any- 
where else  to  go.  I  did  know  a  charming  lady  who 
was  very  witty  ;md — very  rich ! " 

"  I — I'll  put  some  more  in  Omofaga  and  lose  it. 
Oh,  you  are  stupid,  Tom  !  I  really  thought  I  should 
have  to  ask  you  myself,  Tom.  I'd  have  done  it  sooner 
than  let  you  go." 

It  was  not,  happily,  in  the  end  necessary,  and  Adela 
said  with  a  sigh, 

"  I  believe  that  I've  something  to  thank  Mr.  Bus- 
ton  for,  after  all." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Why,  he  made  me  resolved  to  marry  the  man  who 
of  all  the  world  was  most  unlike  him." 

"  Then  I've  something  to  thank  him  for  too." 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  know  what  I  said  to  you. 
I — I  was  jealous  of  Maggie  Dennison." 

It  was  later  by  an  hour  when  Tom  Loring  took  his 
way,  not  to  his  rooms  for  a  bag,  but  straight  to  Cur- 
zon  Street.  Adela  had  consented  not  to  wait  ("  In 
one's  eleventh  season  one  does  not  want  to  wait,"  she 
said),  and  Tom  considered  that  it  was  now  hardly 
worth  while  to  move.  So  he  broke  into  Harry  Denni- 
son's  study  with  a  radiant  face,  crying, 

"  Harry,  I'm  not  coming  to  you  after  all,  old  fel- 
low." 


THK   RETURN  OF  A   FRIEND.  327 

Harry  started  up  in  dismay,  but  a  short  explana- 
tion turned  his  sorrow  into  rejoicing.  Again  and 
again  he  shook  Tom's  hand,  telling  him  that  the  man 
who  won  a  good  wife  won  the  greatest  treasure  earth 
could  offer — and  (he  added)  "by  Jove,  Tom,  I  believe 
the  best  chance  of  heaven  too,"  and  Tom  gripped 
Harry's  hand  and  cleared  his  own  throat.  Then 
they  both  felt  very  much  ashamed,  and,  by  way  of  for- 
getting this  deplorable  outburst  of  emotion  (which 
Tom  felt  was  quite  un-English,  and  smacked  indeed 
of  Mrs.  Cormack),  agreed  to  go  upstairs  and  announce 
the  news  to  Maggie. 

"  She'll  be  delighted,"  said  Harry. 

Tom  followed  him  upstairs  to  the  drawing-room. 
Mrs.  Dennison  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  doing  nothing. 
But  she  sprang  up  when  they  came  in,  and  advanced 
to  meet  Tom.  He  also  felt  like  an  ill-used  subject  as 
she  gave  him  her  hand  and  said, 

"  How  forgiving  you  are,  Tom  ! " 

He  looked  in  her  face,  and  found  her  smiling  un- 
der sad  eyes.  And  he  muttered  some  confused  words 
about  "  all  that "  not  mattering  "  tuppence."  And  in- 
deed Mrs.  Dennison  seemed  content  to  take  the  same 
view,  for  she  smiled  again  and  said, 

"  Ah,  well,  there's  an  end  of  it,  anyhow." 

Then  Harry,  who  had  been  wondering  why  Tom 
delayed  his  tidings,  burst  out  with  them,  and  Tom 
added  lamely, 


328  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

"  Yes,  it's  true,  Mrs.  Dennison.  So  you  see  I  can't 
come." 

She  laughed. 

"  I  must  accept  your  excuse,"  she  said,  and  added 
a  few  kind  words.  "  As  for  Adela,"  she  went  ou, 
"  she's  never  besn  to  see  me  lately,  but  for  your  sake 
I'll  be  humble  and  go  and  see  her  to-morrow." 

Harry,  as  though  suddenly  remembering,  ex- 
claimed that  he  must  tell  the  children  ;  in  fact,  he 
had  an  idea  that  a  man  liked  to  talk  about  his  en- 
gagement to  a  woman  alone,  and  plumed  himself  on 
getting  out  of  the  room  with  some  dexterity.  So 
Tom  and  Maggie  Dennison  were  left  for  a  little  while 
together. 

At  first  they  talked  of  Adela,  but  it  was  on  Tom's 
mind  to  say  something  else,  and  at  last  he  contrived  to 
give  it  utterance. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  he  said,  looking  away  from  her, 
"  how  glad  I  was  to  get  your  message.  This — this 
trouble — has  been  horrible.  I  know  I  behaved  like  a 
sulky  fool.  I  was  quite  wrong.  It's  awfully  good  of 
you  to  forget  it." 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,"  she  said  in  a  low,  slow 
voice.     "  How  do  you  think  Harry's  looking?" 

"  Oh,  better  than  I  have  seen  him  for  a  long 
time.  But  you're  not  looking  very  blooming,  Mrs. 
Dennison." 

She  leant  forward. 


THE   RETURN   OF   A    FRIEND.  329 

"  Do  you  think  he's  happy,  or  is  he  worrying?  lie 
talks  to  you,  yon  know." 

"  I  think  lie's  happier  than  he's  been  for  months." 

She  lay  back  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  said. 

"  And  you  ?  "  he  asked,  timidly  yet  urgently. 

It  seemed  useless  to  pretend  complete  ignorance, 
yet  impossible  to  assert  any  knowledge. 

"  Oh,  why  talk  about  me  ?     Talk  about  Adela." 

"I  love  Adela,"  he  said  gravely,  "as  I've  never 
loved  any  other  woman.  But  when  I  was  a  young 
man  and  came  here,  you  were  very  kind  to  me.  And 
I — no,  I'll  go  on  now — I  looked  up  to  you,  and 
thought  you  the — the  grandest  woman  I  knew ;  and 
to  us  young  men  you  were  a  sort  of  queen.  Well,  I 
haven't  changed,  Mrs.  Dennison.  I  still  think  all 
that,  and,  if  you  ever  want  a  friend  to  help  you, 
or — or  a  servant  to  serve  you,  why,  you  can  call 
on  me." 

She  sat  silent  while  he  spoke,  gazing  at  the  ground 
in  front  of  her.     Tom  grew  bolder. 

"  There  was  one  thing  I  came  to  Dieppe  to  do,  but 
I  hadn't  the  courage  there.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that 
Harry — that  Harry  was  worthy  of  your  love.  I 
thought — well,  I've  gone  further  than  I  thought  I 
could.  You  know ;  you  must  forgive  me.  If  there's 
one  thing  in  all  the  world  that  makes  me  feel  all  I 
ever  felt  for  you,  and  more,  it's  to  see  him  happy 


330  THE  GOD   IN   THE   CAR. 

again,  and  you  here  trying  to  make  him.  Because  I 
know  that,  in  a  way,  it's  difficult." 

"Do  you  know ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  And,  because  I  know,  I  tell  you 
that  you're  a  wife  any  man  might  thank  God  for." 

M  re.  Dennison  laughed  ;  and  Tom  started  at  the 
jarring  sound.     Yet  it  was  not  a  sound  of  mirth. 

"  You  had  temptations  most  of  us  haven't — yes, 
and  a  nature  most  of  us  haven't.  And  here  you  are. 
So," — he  rose  from  his  chair  and  took  her  hand  that 
drooped  beside  her,  and  bent  his  head  and  kissed  it — 
"  though  I  love  Adela  with  all  my  heart,  still  I  kiss 
your  hand  as  your  true  and  grateful  servant,  as  I  used 
to  be  in  old  days." 

Tom  stopped ;  he  had  said  his  say,  and  his  voice 
had  grown  tremulous  in  the  saying.  Yet  he  had  done 
it;  he  had  told  her  what  he  felt;  and  he  prayed  that 
it  might  comfort  her  in  the  trouble  that  had  lined  her 
forehead  and  made  her  eyes  sad. 

Mrs.  Dennison  did  not  glance  at  him.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  sat  quite  silent.     Then  she  said, 

"  Thanks,  Tom,"  and  pressed  his  hand. 

Then  she  suddenly  sat  up  in  her  chair  and  held 
her  hand  out  before  her,  and  whispered  to  him  words 
that  he  hardly  heard. 

"If  you  knew,"  she  said,  "you  wouldn't  kiss  it; 
you'd  spit  on  it." 

Tom  stood,  silently,  suddenly,  wretchedly  conscious 


THE  RETURN   OF  A   FRIEND.  331 

that  he  did  not  know  what  lie  ought  to  do.  Then  he 
blurted  out, 

"  You'll  stay  with  him?" 

"  Yes,  I  shall  stay  with  him,"  she  said,  glancing 
up  ;  and  Tom  seemed  to  see  in  her  eyes  the  picture  of 
the  long  future  that  her  words  meant.  And  he  went 
away  with  his  joy  eclipsed. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

THE    MOVING    CAR. 

In  the  month  of  June  two  years  later,  Lord  Sem- 
ingham  sat  on  the  terrace  outside  the  drawing-room 
windows  of  his  country  house.  By  him  sat  Adela 
Loring,  and  Tom  was  to  be  seen  a  hundred  yards 
away,  smoking  a  pipe,  and  talking  to  Harry  Dennison. 
Suddenly  Semingham,  who  had  been  reading  the 
newspaper,  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  Listen  to  this,"  said  he.    "  It  is  true  that  the  vote 
for  the  Omofaga  railway  was  carried,  but  a  majority  of 
ten  is  not  a  glorious  victory,  and   there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  the  prestige  of  the  Government  will  sutler 
considerably  by  such  a  narrow  escape  from  defeat,  and 
by  Lord  Detchmore's  ill-advised  championship  of  Mr. 
Huston's   speculative   schemes.     Why    is   the    British 
Government  to  pull  the  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire  for 
Mr.  Huston?     That  is  what  we  ask." 
Lord  Semingham  paused  and  added, 
"  Thev  may  well  ask.     I  don't  know.     Do  von?" 
"  Yesterday,"  observed    Adela,  "  I  received  a  com- 

\    (332) 


THE  MOVING  CAR,  ;;:;:>, 

munication  from  you  in  your  official  capacity.  It  was 
not  a  pleasant  letter,  Lord  Semingham." 

"  I  daresay  not,  madam,"  said  Semingham. 

"  You  told  me  that  the  Board  regretted  to  say 
that,  owing  to  unforeseen  hindrances,  the  work  in 
Omofaga  had  not  advanced  as  rapidly  as  had  heen 
hoped,  and  that  for  the  present  it  was  considered  ad- 
visable to  devote  all  profits  to  the  development  of  the 
Company's  territory.  You  added  however,  that  you 
had  the  utmost  confidence  in  Mr.  Ruston's  zeal  and 
ability,  and  in  the  ultimate  success  of  the  Company." 

"  Yes  ;  that  was  the  circular,"  said  Semingham. 
"  That,  is,  in  fact,  for  some  time  likely  to  be  the  cir- 
cular." 

They  both  laughed  ;  then  both  grew  grave,  and  sat 
silent  side  by  side. 

The  drawing-room  wrindow  was  thrown  open,  and 
Lady  Semingham  looked  out.  She  held  a  letter  in 
her  hand. 

"  Oh,  fancv,  Adela !  "  she  cried.  "  Such  a  terrible 
thing  has  happened.  I've  had  a  letter  from  Marjory 
Valentine — she's  in  awful  grief,  poor  child." 

"  Why,  what  about?"  cried  Adela. 

"  Poor  young  Walter  Valentine  has  died  of  fever 
in  Omofaga.  He  caught  it  at  Fort  Imperial,  and  he 
was  dead  in  a  week.  Poor  Lady  Valentine  !  Isn't  it 
sad  ?  " 

Adela  and  Semingham  looked  at  one  another.  A 
22 


334  THE  GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

moment  ago  they  had  jested  on  the  sacrifices  demanded 
by  Omofaga;  Semingham  had  seen  in  the  division  on 
the  vote  for  the  railway  a  delightful  extravagant  bur- 
lesque on  a  larger  stage  of  the  fatefulness  which  he 
had  whimsically  read  into  Willie  Ruston's  darling 
scheme.  Adela  had  fallen  into  his  mood,  adducing 
the  circular  as  her  evidence.  They  were  taken  at 
their  word  in  grim  earnest.  Omofaga  claimed  real 
tears,  as  though  in  conscious  malice  it  had  set  itself  to 
outplay  them  at  their  sport. 

"  You  don't  say  anything,  Alfred,"  complained 
little  Lady  Semingham  from  the  window. 

"  What  is  there  to  say  ?  "  asked  he,  spreading  out 
his  hands. 

"  The  only  son  of  his  mother,  and  she  is  a  widow," 
whispered  Adela,  gazing  away  over  the  sunny  mea- 
dows. 

Bessie  Semingham  looked  at  the  pair  for  an 
instant,  vaguely  dissatisfied  with  their  want  of  de- 
monstrativeness.  There  seemed,  as  Alfred  said,  very 
little  to  say;  it  was  so  sad  that  there  ought  to  have 
been  more  to  say.  But  she  could  think  of  nothing 
herself,  so,  in  her  pretty  little  lisp,  she  repeated, 

"  How  sad  for  poor  Lady  Valentine  !  "  and  slowly 
shut  the  window. 

"  lie  was  a  bright  boy,  with  the  makings  of  a  man 
in  him,"  said  Semingluim. 

Adela  nodded,  and  for  a  long  while  neither  spoke 


THE  MOVING  CAR.  335 

again.  Then  Semingham,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
seeks  relief  from  sad  thoughts  which  cannot  alter 
sadder  facts,  asked, 

"  Where  are  the  Dennisons?" 

"  She  went  for  a  walk  by  herself,  but  I  think  she's 
come  back  and  gone  a  stroll  with  Tom  and  Harry." 
As  she  spoke,  she  looked  up  and  caught  a  puzzled 
look  in  Semingham's  eye.  "  Yes,"  she  went  on  in 
quick  understanding.  "  I  don't  quite  understand  her 
either." 

"But  what  do  you  think?"  he  asked,  in  his  in- 
satiable curiosity  that  no  other  feeling  could  altogether 
master. 

"  I  don't  want  to  think  about  it,"  said  Adela. 
"  But,  yes,  I'll  tell  you,  if  you  like.  She  isn't 
happy." 

"  No.     I  could  tell  you  that,"  said  he. 

"  But  Harry  is  happy.  Lord  Semingham,  when  I 
see  her  with  him — her  sweetness  and  kindness  to  him 
— I  wonder." 

This  time  it  was  Semingham  who  nodded  silent 
assent. 

"  And,"  said  Adela,  with  a  glance  of  what  seemed 
like  defiance,  "  I  pray." 

"  You're  a  good  woman,  Adela,"  said  he. 

"  He  sees  no  change  in  her,  or  he  sees  a  change 
that  makes  him  love  her  more.  Surely,  surely,  some 
day,  Lord  Semingham ?" 


336  THE   GOD   IN  THE  CAR. 

She  broke  off,  leaving  her  hope  unexpressed,  but 
a  faint  smile  on  her  face  told  of  it. 

"  It  may  be — some  day,"  he  said,  as  though  he 
hardly  hoped.  Then,  with  one  of  his  quick  retreats, 
he  took  refuge  in  asking,  "  Are  you  happy  with  your 
husband,  Adela  ?     I  hope  to  goodness  you  are." 

"  Perfectly,"  she  answered,  with  a  bright  passing 
smile. 

"But  you  get  no  dividends,"  he  suggested,  raising 
his  brows. 

"  No ;  no  dividends,"  said  she.    "  No  more  do  you." 

"  No  ;  but  we  shall." 

"  I  suppose  we  shall." 

"  He'll  pull  us  through." 

"  I  wish  he'd  never  been  born,"  cried  Adela. 

"  Perhaps.  Since  he  has,  I  shall  keep  my  eye  on 
him." 

From  the  shrubbery  at  the  side  of  the  lawn, 
Maggie  Dennison  came  out.  She  was  leaning  on  her 
husband's  arm,  and  Tom  Loring  walked  with  them. 
A  minute  later  they  had  heard  from  Adela  the  news 
of  the  ending  of  young  Sir  Walter's  life  and  hopes. 

"  Good  God  !"  cried  Harry  Dennison  in  grief. 

They  sat  down  and  began  to  talk  sadly  of  the  lost 
boy.  Only  Maggie  Dennison  said  nothing.  Iler  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  sky,  and  she  seemed  hardly  to  hear. 
Yet  Adela,  stealing  a  glance  at  her,  saw  her  clenched 
hand  quiver. 


THE  MOVING  CAR.  337 

"  Do  you  remember,"  asked  Semingham,  "  how  at 
Dieppe  Bessie  would  have  it  that  the  little  red  crosses 
were  tombstones  ?  She  was  quite  pleased  with  the 
idea." 

"  Yes ;  and  how  horrified  the  old  Baron  was," 
said  Adela. 

"  Both  he  and  Walter  gone  ! "  mused  Harry  Den- 
nison. 

"  Well,  the  omen  is  fulfilled  now,"  said  Tom  Lor- 
inff.     "  Ruston  need  not  fear  for  himself." 

Harry  Dennison  turned  a  sudden  uneasy  glance 
upon  his  wife.  She  looked  up  aud  met  it  with  a  calm 
sad  smile. 

"He  was  a  brave  boy,"  she  said.  "Mr.  Ruston 
will  be  very  sorry."  She  rose  and  laid  her  hand  on 
her  husband's  arm.  "  Come,  Harry,"  she  said,  "  we'll 
walk  again." 

He  rose  and  gave  her  his  arm.  She  paused,  glanc- 
ing from  one  to  the  other  of  the  group. 

"  You  mustn't  think  he  won't  be  sorry,"  she  said 
pleadingly. 

Then  she  pressed  her  husband's  arm  and  walked 
away  with  him.  They  passed  again  into  the  fringing 
shrubbery  and  were  lost  to  view.  Tom  Loring  did 
not  go  with  them  this  time,  but  sat  down  by  his  wife's 
side.  For  a  while  no  one  spoke.  Then  Adela  said 
softly, 

"She  knows  him  better  than  we  do.     I  suppose 


338  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

he  will  be  sorry.  Will  he  be  sorry  for  Marjory 
too  ?  " 

"  If  he  thinks  of  her,"  said  Semingham. 

"  Yes— if  he  thinks  of  her." 

Semingham  lit  a  cigarette  and  watched  the  smoke 
curl  skywards. 

"  Some  of  us  are  bruised,"  said  he,  "  and  some  of 
us  are  broken." 

"  Not  beyond  cure  ? "  Adela  beseeched,  touching 
his  arm. 

"  God  knows,"  said  he  with  a  shrug. 

"Not  beyond  cure?"  she  said  again,  insisting. 

"  I  hope  not,  my  dear,"  said  Tom  Loring  gently. 

"Bruised  or  broken — bruised  or  broken!"  mused 
Semingham,  watching  his  smoke-rings.  "  But  the 
car  moves  on,  eh,  Adela?  " 

"  Yes,  the  car  moves  on,"  said  she. 

"  And  I  don't  know,"  said  Tom  Loring,  "  that  I'd 
care  to  be  the  god  who  sits  in  it." 

While  Maggie  Dennison  walked  with  Harry  in  the 
shrubbery,  and  the  group  on  the  terrace  talked  of  the 
god  in  the  car,  on  the  other  side  of  the  world  a  man 
sat  looking  out  of  a  window  under  a  new-risen  sun. 
Presently  his  eyes  dropped,  and  they  fell  on  a  wooden 
cross  that  stood  below  the  window.  A  cheap  wreath 
of  artificial  flowers  decked  it — a  wreath  one  of  Rus- 
ton's  company  had  carried  over  seas  from  the  grave  of 


THE   MOVING   CAlt.  339 

his  dead  wife,  and  had  brought  out  of  his  treasures  to 
honour  young  Sir  Walter's  grave  ;  because  he  and 
they  all  had  loved  the  boy.  And,  as  Maggie  Dennison 
had  said,  Huston  also  was  sorry.  His  eyes  dwelt  on 
the  cross,  while  he  seemed  to  hear  again  Walter's 
merry  laugh  and  confident  ringing  tones,  and  to  see 
his  brave,  lithe  figure  as  he  sprang  on  his  horse  and 
cantered  ahead  of  the  party,  eager  for  the  road,  or  the 
sport,  aye,  or  the  fight.  For  a  moment  Willie  Ruston's 
head  fell,  then  he  got  up — the  cross  had  sent  his 
thoughts  back  to  the  far-off  land  he  had  left.  He 
walked  across  the  little  square  room  to  an  iron-bound 
box ;  unlocking  it,  he  searched  amid  a  pile  of  papers 
and  found  a  woman's  letter.  He  began  to  read  it,  but, 
when  he  had  read  but  half,  he  laid  it  gently  down 
again  among  the  papers  and  closed  and  locked  the 
box.  His  face  was  white  and  set,  his  eyes  gleamed  as 
if  in  anger.     Suddenly  he  muttered  to  himself, 

"  I  loved  that  boy.  I  never  thought  of  it  killing 
him." 

And  on  thought  of  the  boy  came  another,  and 
for  an  instant  the  stern  mouth  quivered,  and  he  half- 
turned  towards  the  box  again.  Then  he  jerked  his 
head,  muttering  again ;  yet  his  face  was  softer,  till  a 
heavy  frown  grew  upon  it,  and  he  pressed  his  hand 
for  the  shortest  moment  to  his  eyes. 

It  was  over — over,  though  it  was  to  come  again. 
Treadiug  heavily  on  the  floor — there  was  no  lightness 


340  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR. 

left  in  his  step — he  reached  the  door,  and  found  a 
dozen  mounted  men  waiting  for  him,  and  a  horse  held 
for  him.  He  looked  round  on  the  men ;  they  were 
fine  fellows,  tall  and  stalwart,  ready  for  anything. 
Slowly  a  smile  broke  on  his  face,  an  unmirthful  smile, 
that  lasted  but  till  he  had  said, 

"  Well,  boys,  we  must  teach  these  fellows  a  little 
lesson  to-day." 

His  followers  laughed  and  joked,  but  none  joined 
him  where  he  rode  at  their  head.  The  chief  was  a 
man  to  follow,  not  to  ride  with,  they  said,  half  in 
liking,  half  in  dislike,  wholly  in  trust  and  deference. 
Yet  in  old  days  he  had  been  good  to  ride  with  too. 

The  car  was  moving  on.  Maybe  Tom  Loring  was 
not  very  wrong,  when  he  said  that  he  would  not  care 
to  be  the  man  who  sat  in  it. 


THE    END. 


APPLETONS'    TOWN   AND   COUNTRY    LIBRARY. 

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2.  Eve.    A  Novel.    By  S.  Baring-Gould. 

8.  For  Fifii  i  //  Years.    A  Seqael  to  The  Steel  Hammer.    By  Louis  Ulbach. 

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Clark  Russell. 

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>4.  Katy  of  Catoctin.    By  George  Alfred  Townsend. 

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100.  HU  Life's  Magnet.    By  Theodora  Elmslie. 

101.  Passing  the  Love  of  Women.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 
10J.  In  Old  St.  Stephen's.     By  Jeanie  Drake. 

103.   The  Berkeleys  and  their  Neighbors.    By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell. 

101.  Mona  Maclean,  Medical  Student.     By  Graham  Travers. 

105.  Mrs.  Il/if/h.     Iiy  Rhoda   Brougiiton. 

lot;.  .1  stumble  on  the  Threshold.    By  James  Payn. 

107.  Hanging  Mots.    By  Paul  Lindau. 

108.  .-1  Comedy  of  Elopement.    By  christian  Ri:n>. 

109.  //'  '>"  sun Dm-  of  her  Youth.    By  Beatrice  Whitby. 

110.  stories  in  Black  and  While.    By  Thomas  Hardy  and  Others. 
110J.  An  Englishman  in  Paris.     Notes  and  Recollections. 

111.  Commander  Mendoza.    Bv  Juan  Valera. 

112.  Dr.  Fault's  Theory.    By  Mrs.  a.  m.  Dtjkhl. 

113.  Children  of  Destiny .    By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell. 
111.  A  Little  if  int.    By  Ada  Cambridge. 

115.  f.'ii/i/'n  Davy's  Ihmsymoon.    By  Hall  Caine. 

lie,.  The  Voire  of  a  Flower.    By  E.  Gerard. 

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GEORG   EBERS'S   ROMANCES. 

Cleopatra.    Translated  from  the  German  by  Mary  J.  Safford.    2  volumes. 
A  Thorny  Path.    (Per  Aspera.)    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    2  volumes. 
An  Egyptian  Princess.    Translated  by  Eleanor  Grove.    2  volumes. 
Uarda.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.     2  volumes. 
Homo  Sum.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    1  volume. 
The  Sisters.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    1  volume. 
A  Question.    Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.    1  volume. 
The  Emperor.    Translated  by  Clara  Be^l.    2  volumes. 
The  Burgomaster's  Wife.    Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.    1  volume. 
A  Word,  only  a  Word.    Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.     1  volume. 
Serapis.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    1  volume. 
The  Bride  of  the  Nile.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    2  volumes. 
Margery.    (Gred.)    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.    2  volumes. 
Joshua.    Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.    1  volume. 

Tns  Elixir,  and  Other  Tales.    Translated  by  Mrs.  Edward  H.  Bell.    With 
Portrait  of  the  Author.    1  volume. 

Each  of  the  above,  16mo,  paper  cover,  40  cents  per  volume  ;  cloth.  75  cents. 
Set  of  22  volumes,  cloth,  in  box,  §16.50. 

Also,  12mo  edition  of  the  above  (except  "A  Question."  "  The  Elixir,"  '■  Cleo- 
patra," and  "A  Thorny  Path  "),  in  8  volumes,  cloth,  Sl-OOeach. 

New  York:    D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


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HANDY   VOLUMES   OF    FICTION. 

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OURMALIN'S      TIME      CHEQUES.       By    F. 

Anstey,  author  of  "  Vice  Versa,"  "  The  Giant's  Kobe,"  etc. 

Mr.  Anstey  has  done  nothing  more   original  or  fantastic  with  more  success." — 
The  Nation. 

ROM    SHADOW     TO     SUNLIGHT.      By    the 
Marquis  of  Lorne. 

"In  these  days  of  princely  criticism—  that  is  to  say,  criticism  of  princes — it  is  re- 
freshing to  meet  a  realiy  good  bit  of  aristocratic  literary  work." — Chicago  Tribune. 

ADOPTING    AN    ABANDONED    EARM.      By 
■*-*     Kate  Sanborn. 

"  A  sunny,  pungent,  humorous  sketch." — Chicago  Times. 


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N  THE  LAKE  OF  L  UCERNE,  and  other  Stories. 
By  Beatrice  Whitby,  author  of  "A  Matter  of  Skill,"  "The 
Awakening  of  Mary  Fenvvick,"  etc. 

"Six  short  stories  carefully  and  conscientiously  finished,  and  told  with  the  graceful 
ease  of  the  practiced  raconteur." — Literal  y  Digest. 

EOPLE  A  T  PLSGAH.     By  Edwin  W.  Sanborn. 

"  A  most  amusing  extravaganza." — The  Critic. 

Li.    FORTNER'S    MARLTAL    CLAIMS,    and 
other  Stories.     By  Richard  Malcolm  Johnston. 

"  When  the  last  story  is  finished  we  feel,  in   imitation  of  Oliver  Twist,  like  asking 
for  more. " — Public  Opinion. 

R A  MERCY  PARK.  A  Story  of  New  York.  By 
John  Seymour  Wood,  author  of  "  An  Old  Beau,"  etc. 

"  A  realistic  story  of  New  York  life,  vividly  drawn,  full  of  brilliant  sketches."— Bos- 
ton Advertiser. 

TALE    OE    TWENTY-FIVE    HOURS.      By 
Brander  Matthews  and  George  H.  Jessop. 

"The  reader  finds  himself  in  the  midst  of  tragedy  ;  but  it  is  tragedy  ending  in 
comedy.     The  story  is  exceptionally  well  told." — Boston  Traveller. 


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LITTLE  NORSK ;  or,    O/'  Pafs   Flaxen.      By 

Hamlin  Garland,  author  of  "  Main  Traveled  Roads,"  etc. 

"There  is  nothing  in  story  telling  liierature  to  excel  the  naturalness,  pathos,  hu- 
mor, and  homelike  interest  with  which  the  little  heroine's  development  is  traced." — 
Brooklyn  Eagle. 

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ABANDONING    AN    ADOPTED    FARM.      By 

■*^*    KATE  Sanborn,  author  of  "Adopting  an  Abandoned  Kami,"  etc. 

As  a  promoter  of  good  spirits,  a  contributor  to  the  gayety  of  nation-,,  Miss  Kate 
Sanborn  lias  gained  a  most  enviable  place  among  the  writers  of  the  day.  Ever  J  body 
laughed  over  her  "  Adoption  "  ot  her  farm.  Her  "Abandonment  "  is,  if  possible,  more 
vivacious  and  entertaining. 

A/T RS.  LIMBER'S  RAFFLE ;   or,  A   Church  Fair 
■*■*■*■     and  its  Victims.     By  William  Allen  Butler. 

This  brilliant  little  .satire,  by  the  author  of  "  Nothing  to  Wear,"  appears  now  under 
his  name,  in  a  revised  and  enlarged  form. 

'JTHE  PURPLE  LIGHT  OF  LOVE.     By  Henry 
■*       Goelet  McVickar,  author  of  "A  Precious  Trio,"  etc. 

"  A  novel  that  holds  the  attention  of  the  reader  with  its  clever  sketches  of  charac- 
ter."— Bosioh  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

H^HE    TRANSLATION    OF  A    SAVAGE.      By 
■*       Gilbert  Parker. 

"  Unique  in  plot  and  subject,  and.  Aolds  the  interest  from  the  first  page  to  the  last." 
— Detroit  Free  Press. 

^HE    FAIENCE     VIOLIN.      By   Champfleury. 


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"The  style  is  happy  throughout,  the  humorous  parts  being  well  calculated  to  bring 
smibs,  while  \vc  can  hardly  restrain  our  tears  when  the  poor  enthusiast  goes  to  excesses 
that  havea  touch  of  pathos." — Albany  Times-Union. 


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RUE  RICHES.     By  Francois  Coppee. 


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"  Delicate  as  an  apple  blossom,  with  its  limp  cover  of  pale  green  and  its  stalk  of 
golden-rod,  is  this  little  vo'ume  containing  two  stories  by  Francois  Coppee.  The  tales 
are  charmingly  told,  and  their  setting  is  an  artistic  delight."—  1  hiiadelfhta  Bulletin. 

TRUTHFUL     WOMAN     IN     SOUTHERN 
CALIFORNIA.     By   Kate  Sanborn. 

"  The  veracious  writer  considers  the  pros  of  the  '  glorious  climate '  of  California, 
and  then  she  gives  the  cons.  .  .  .  The  book  is  sprightly  and  amiably  entertaining.  The 
descriptions  have  the  true  Sanborn  touch  of  vitality  and  humor." — Philadelphia  Ledger. 

A  BORDER  LEANDER.  By  Howard  Seely, 
■**-     author  of  *'  A  Nymph  of  the  West,"  etc. 

"  We  confess  to  a  great  liking  for  the  tale  Mr.  Seely  tells.  .  .  .  There  are  pecks  of 
trouble  ere  the  devoted  lovers  secure  the  tying  of  their  love-knot,  and  Mr.  Seely  de- 
scribes them  all  with  a  Texan  flavor  that  is  refreshing."— JV.   J '.  Times. 


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ANY  INVENTIONS.     By  Rudvard   Kipling. 

Containing  fourteen  stories,  several  of  which  are  now  pub- 
lished for  the  first  time,  and  two  poems.  i2mo,  427  pages. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 


"The  reader  turns  from  its  pages  with  the  conviction  that  the  author  has  no  supe< 
ior  to-day  in  animated  narrative  and  virility  of  style.  He  remains  master  of  a  power 
I)  which  none  of  his  contemporaries  approach  him — the  ability  to  select  out  of  countless 
Jetails  the  few  vital  ones  which  create  the  finished  picture.  He  knows  how,  with  a 
phrase  or  a  word,  to  make  you  see  his  characters  as  he  sees  them,  to  make  you  feel 
the  full  meaning  of  a  dramatic  situation." — New  York  '1  ribune. 

"'Many  Inventions'  will  confirm  Mr.  Kipling's  reputation.  .  .  .  We  would  cite 
with  pleasure  sentences  from  almost  every  page,  and  extract  incidents  from  almost 
every  story.  But  to  what  end  ?  Here  is  the  completest  book  that  Mr.  Kipling  has  yet 
given  us  in  workmanship,  the  weightiest  and  most  humane  in  breadth  of  view." — 
'Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  powers  as  a  story-teller  are  evidently  not  diminishing.  We  advise 
everybody  to  buy  '  Many  Inventions,'  and  to  profit  by  some  of  the  best  entertainment 
that  modern  fiction  has  to  offer." — New  York  Sun. 

"  '  Many  Inventions '  will  be  welcomed  wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken. 
.  .  .  Every  one  of  the  stories  bears  the  imprint  of  a  master  who  conjures  up  incident 
as  if  by  magic,  and  who  portrays  character,  scenery,  and  feeling  with  an  ease  which  is 
only  exceeded  by  the  boldness  of  force." — Boston  Globe. 

"The  book  will  get  and  hold  the  closest  attention  of  the  reader." — American 
Bookseller. 

"Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling's  place  in  the  world  of  letters  is  unique.  He  sits  quite  aloof 
and  alone,  the  incomparable  and  inimitable  master  of  the  exquisitely  fine  art  of  short- 
story  writing.  Mr.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  has  perhaps  written  several  talcs  which 
match  the  run  of  Mr.  Kipling's  work,  but  the  best  of  Mr.  Kipling's  tales  are  matchless, 
and  his  latest  collection,  'Many  Inventions,'  contains  several  such." — Philadelphia 
Press. 

"Of  late  essays  in  fiction  the  work  of  Kipling  can  be  compared  to  only  three— 
Blackmore's  '  I-orna  Poone,'  Stevenson's  marvelous  sketch  of  Villon  in  the  'New 
Arabian  Nights,'  and  Thomas  Hardy's  '  Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles.'  .  .  .  It  is  probably 
owing  to  this  extreme  care  that  '  Many  Inventions  '  is  undoubtedly  Mr.  Kipling's  best 
book." — Chicago  Post. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  style  is  too  well  known  to  American  readers  to  require  introduction, 
but  it  can  scarcely  be  amiss  to  say  there  is  not  a  story  in  this  collection  that  does  not 
more  than  repay  a  perusal  of  tliem  all." — Baltimore  American. 

"  As  a  writer  of  short  stories  Rudyard  Kipling  is  a  genius.  He  has  had  imitators, 
but  they  have  not  been  successful  in  dimming  the  luster  of  his  achievements  by  con- 
trast. .  .  .  'Many  Inventions'  is  the  title.  And  they  are  inventions— entirely  origi- 
nal in  incident,  ingenious  in  plot,  and  startling  by  their  boldness  and  force." — Rochester 
Herald. 

"  How  clever  he  is !  This  must  always  be  the  first  thought  on  reading  such  f 
collection  of  Kipling's  stories.  Here  is  art— art  of  the  most  consummate  sort  Com 
pared  with  this,  the  stories  of  our  brightest  young  writers  become  commonplace. "  — 
New  York  Evangelist. 

"  Taking  the  group  as  a  whole,  it  may  be  said  that  the  execution  is  up  to  his  best 
in  the  past,  while  two  or  three  sketches  surpass  in  rounded  strength  and  vividness  ol 
imagination  anything  else  he  has  done." — Hartford  Courant. 

"Fifteen  more  extraordinary  sketches,  without  a  tingr  of  sensationalism,  it  would 
be  hard  to  find.  .  .  .  Every  one  has  an  individuality  of  its  own  which  fascinates  tl>» 
reader." — Boston  Times. 


New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.   APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


A   JOURNEY  JN  OTHER    WORLDS.      A    Ro^ 
■**■     ftiance  of  the  Future.     By  John  Jacob  Astor.     With  g  full- 
page  Illustrations  by  Dan  Beard.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"An  interesting  and  cleverly  devised  book.  ...  No  lack  of  imagination.  .  .  . 
Shows  a  skillful  and  wide  acquaintance  with  scientific  facts."— New  York  Herald. 

"The  author  speculates  cleverly  and  daringly  on  the  scientific  advance  of  the  earth, 
and  he  revels  in  the  physical  luxuriance  of  Jupiter;  but  he  also  lets  his  imagination 
travel  through  spiritual  realms,  and  evidently  delights  in  mystic  speculation  quite  as 
much  as  in  scientific  investigation.  If  he  is  a  follower  of  Jules  Verne,  he  has  not  forgot- 
ten also  to  study  the  philosophers." — New  1  otk  Tribune. 

"  A  beautiful  example  of  typographical  art  and  the  bookmaker's  skill.  .  .  .  To 
appreciate  the  story  one  must  tead  it."—  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"The  date  of  the  events  nanated  in  this  book  is  supposed  to  be  2000  A.  D.  The 
inhabitants  of  North  America  have  increased  mightily  in  numbers  and  power  and 
knowledge.  It  is  an  age  of  marvelous  scientific  attainments  Flying  machines  ha*ve 
long  been  in  common  use,  and  finally  a  new  power  is  discovered  called  '  apergy,' 
the  reverse  of  gravitation,  by  which  people  are  able  to  fly  off  into  space  in  any  direc- 
tion, and  at  what  speed  they  please." — New  York  Sun. 

"The  scientific  romance  by  John  Jacob  Astor  is  more  than  likely  to  secure  a  dis- 
tinct popular  success,  and  achieve  widespiead  vogue  both  as  an  amusing  and  interest- 
esting  story,  and  a  thoughtful  endeavor  to  prophesy  some  of  the  triumphs  which  science 
is  destined  to  win  by  the  year  2coo.  The  book  has  been  written  with  a  purpose,  and 
that  a  higher  one  than  the  mere  spinning  of  a  highly  imaginative  yarn.  Mr.  Astor  has 
been  engaged  upon  the  book  for  over  two  years,  and  has  brought  to  bear  upon  it  a 
great  deal  of  hard  work  in  the  way  of  scientific  research,  of  which  he  has  been  very  fond 
ever  since  he  entered  Harvard.  It  is  admirably  illustrated  by  Dan  Beard."— Mail  and 
Express. 

"  Mr.  Astor  has  himself  almost  all  the  qualities  imaginable  for  making  the  science  of 
astronomy  popular.  He  knows  the  learned  maps  of  the  astrologers.  He  knows  the 
work  of  Copernicus.  He  has  made  calculations  and  observations.  He  is  enthusiastic, 
and  the  spectacular  does  not  frighten  him."— New  York  Times. 

"The  work  will  remind  the  reader  very  much  of  Jules  Verne  in  its  general  plan  of 
using  scientific  facts  and  speculation  as  a  skeleton  on  which  to  hang  the  romsntic 
adventures  of  the  central  figures,  who  have  all  the  daring  ingenuity  and  luck  of  Mr. 
Verne's  heroes.  Mr.  Astor  uses  histoiy  to  point  out  what  in  his  opinion  science  may 
be  expected  to  accomplish.     It  is  a  romance  with  a  purpose." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  The  nmance  contains  many  new  and  striking  developments  of  the  possibilities 
of  science  hereafter  to  be  explored,  but  the  volume  is  intensely  interesting,  both  as  a 
product  of  imagination  and  an  illustration  of  the  ingenious  and  original  application  of 
science." — Rochester  Herald. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


*J^fIE  MANXMAN.     By    Hall    Caine,  author   of 

■*■        "The  Deemster,"  "  Capt'n  Davy's  Honeymoon,"  "  The  Scape- 
goat," etc.     i2mo.     Cluth,  $1.50. 

"  Within  the  last  few  years  there  have  come  to  the  front  in  England,  as  writers  of 
fiction,  l'.arrie,  Stevenson,  Crockett,  Weyman,  and  Hall  Caine — the  last,  if  we  may 
judge  by  his  latest  work,  the  greatest." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"The  most  powerful  story  that  has  been  written  in  the  present  generation." — 
Edinburgh  Scotsman. 

"  It  is  difficult  not  to  speak  with  what,  may  seem  indiscriminate  praise  of  Mr.  Hall 
Caine's  new  work." — London  Daily  News. 

"The  book,  as  a  whole,  is  on  a  rare  level  of  excellence — a  level  which  we  venture 
to  predict  will  always  be  rare."—  London  Chronicle. 

"  A  story  of  marvelously  dramatic  intensity,  and  in  its  ethical  meaning  has  a  force 
comparable  only  to  Hawthorne's  'Scarlet  Letter.'  " — Boston  Beacon. 

"We  agree  with  those  who  hold  'The  Manxman'  to  be  the  best  of  Mr.  Hall 
Caine's  stories,  and  one  of  the  best  stories  of  the  year." — The  Critic. 

"A  singularly  powerful  and  picturesque  piece  of  work,  extraordinarily  dramatic. 
.  .  .  Taken  altogether,  '  The  Manxman  '  can  not  fail  to  enhance  Mr.  Hall  Caine's 
reputation.     It  is  a  most  powerful  book." — London  Standard. 

"The  story  will  assuredly  rank  with  Mr.  Caine's  best  work,  and  will  obtain  imme- 
diate favor  with  the  lovers  of  strong  and  pure  romance." — London  Globe. 

"  The  story  that  will  absorb  thousands  of  readers,  and  add  rare  laurels  to  the  reputa- 
tion of  its  author.  ...  A  work  such  as  only  a  great  story-teller  could  imagine.  .  .  . 
A  really  great  novel." — Liverpool  Post. 

"  A  book  the  construction  and  execution  of  which  very  few  living  European  novel- 
ists could  excel.  The  fullness  of  the  texture  in  this  last  novel,  the  brilliancy  of  the  suc- 
cessive episodes,  the  gravity  and  intensity  of  the  sentiment,  the  art  with  which  the  ever- 
deepening  central  tragedy  is  relieved  by  what  is  picturesque  and  what  is  comic — all 
this  has  only  to  be  seriously  considered  to  be  highly  appreciated.  '  J  he  Manxman' 
is  a  contribution  to  literature,  and  the  most  fastidious  critic  woidd  give  in  exchange 
for  it  a  wilderness  of  that  deciduous  trash  which  our  publishers  caff  fiction. "—  Eomund 
Gosse,  in  St.  James's  Gazette. 

"  A  work  of  rare  merit  and  striking  originality.  .  .  .  Indubitably  the  finest  book 
that  Mr  Hall  Caine  has  yet  produced.  It  is  a  noble  contribution  to  the  enrichment  of 
English  fiction  and  the  advancement  of  its  author's  fame." — London  Academy. 

"  It  will  be  read  and  reread,  and  take  its  place  in  the  literary  inheritance  of  the 
English  speaking  nations,  like  George  Eliot's  great  books." — The  Queen. 

"  '  The  Manxman,'  we  may  say  at  once,  confirms  the  author's  claim  to  rank 
among  the  first  novelists  of  the  day.  .  .  .  The  story  is  constructed  and  worked  out 
with  consummate  skill,  and,  though  intensely  tragic  it  is  lightened  by  some  charming 
descriptions  of  scenery  and  local  customs.  The  characters,  even  the  minor  ones,  are 
closely  studied  and  finely  executed,  and  show  a  deep  experience  and  knowledge  ol 
human  nature,  in  its  lighter  as  well  as  darker  aspects,  such  as  only  a  master  hand 
could  faithfully  have  drawn." — London  Literary  World. 

"  In  truth  it  is  Mr.  Caine's  masterpiece,  and  congratulations  are  pouring  in  upon 
him  from  right  and  left.  .  .  .  The  story  had  only  been  issued  a  few  hours  when  Mr. 
Gladstone  wrote  to  the  Isle  of  Man  to  express  his  admiration  for  the  new  success." — 
London  correspondence  of  the  New  York  Critic. 


New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


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